Soul Food

Michele Marr

And [Jesus] took [the children] up in His arms, put His hands on them,

and blessed them.

-- Mark 10:16

The children.

Their eyes have gripped my heart through photo after photo in

newspapers and magazines since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11. By Oct.

12, I was clipping photos, adding them day-by-day to a pile on my desk.

A photo at the top of the pile shows a 3-year-old toddler perched on

the shoulders of his firefighter father. His small hands are cupped

around his father’s chin for balance. He cannot see his father’s face,

but his little face is a mirror of it, solemn and full of sorrow, as they

attend a memorial service on the one-month anniversary of the attacks.

I look closely at the photo, imagining their guardian angels standing

just behind them. There are no angels’ faces in the photo, of course. But

they are there I am sure, patient stewards of the joy and the hope this

father and son have for a time cast aside.

In another photo, an infant languishes in the arms of its Afghan

father as he crosses the border into Pakistan. Where, I wonder, is the

infant’s mother? Who will feed this nursing child?

A tiny, barefooted boy in a dark blue robe carries a bright-yellow

relief food package in both arms. The field around him is littered with

yellow parcels, but he carries just one. It looks as if it weighs half as

much as he does.

A black-haired, dark-eyed toddler squints defensively into the eye of

a camera. She and her grandfather cling to an overloaded pickup whose

driver is smuggling them out of Taliban territory. They have sold all of

their belongings for the chance of this escape.

A blond daughter presses her tearful face into the bosom of her

father, an Air National Guard staff sergeant, as he leaves for duty.

A young teenager, a Taliban soldier-defector looks childlike and

desperate. A boy on a donkey trots alongside a Northern Alliance tank as

it heads toward a Taliban stronghold.

In the Sunday comic strip, For Better or for Worse, this Canadian

family’s youngest daughter leans cheek-in-hand contemplating a Veterans

Day poppy and mental vestiges of the World Trade Center towers ablaze.

When I see my nieces and nephews, my goddaughter and her siblings and

the children of my neighbors and my friends, I am grateful -- so very

grateful -- that they live in the relative peace and safety of our

nation.

They are not unaware of our nation’s recent tragedy. They know that

children like themselves have lost their mothers or their fathers. They

know that a number of babies will be born who will never get to know

their fathers.

Some have sent long-saved money for the help and comfort of Sept. 11

widows, widowers and orphans. Some pray that God will comfort them and

strengthen them in their sorrow. All of them know that what happened once

could happen again.

Still, they celebrate their birthdays and look forward to Christmas

with light and childish hearts. They know their mothers and their

fathers, their family and their many friends are there to cherish and

protect them. The future looms bright.

I pray the future will be bright for them and for the young victims of

terror in our nation. I pray the future will be brighter than it looks

today for the little soldiers, the victims of war, devastation and

poverty abroad.

I sift through the photos on my desk. I look at each overwhelmed,

small face. World-weary eyes look back. My heart says a prayer.

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer and graphic designer from

Huntington Beach. She has been interested in religion and ethics for as

long as she can remember. She can be reached at o7

[email protected]