If Hope Went on Sabbatical . . .

I read this article yesterday and it really made my heart break.

Now, if you are anything like me, you are bad about clicking through on hyperlinks because you are super busy and who has time to go read some other links when you have to get work done, grab some coffee and buy groceries while putting on lip gloss. Hmm?

So I will provide you with a very brief synopsis of the story.

In actuality, it is a happy story. Well, in a way. A man, a 32 year old man, was reunited with the father he never knew.

The father, Abel Madariaga, has been searching for his son and never gave up hope that he would find him.

Abel's wife, Silvia, was kidnapped when she was pregnant over 32 years ago. She and her husband were part of a leftist group in Argentina, which was then a dictatorship. Their group was targeted for death by the government.

The last time Abel saw Silvia, she was being pushed into a Ford by members of the Argentinian army.

Silvia, a surgeon who helped the poor, gave birth to their son while in a torture chamber. Survivors who were also imprisoned said the baby was taken away from her and shortly afterward, she disappeared.

There is a lot more to the story and to the torment that both the son and the father suffered through for the past three decades.

But they are together now. How amazing is that?

32 Years. Of not knowing.

"Hugging him that first time, it was as if I filled a hole in my soul," the father said.

Reading this story brought home for me the importance of hope. Such a short word. One that doesn't really seem to have the stature of longer, multiple syllable words.

4 letters. That's all.

H.O.P.E.

I think about how easy (ok not easy. Nothing sounds like it was "easy" for this man) it could have been for this father to have given up. To have just believed that his son had been killed, along with the other 400 children who had been kidnapped by birth and murdered during the mass genocide by former Argentinian dictatorship.

I think about how hard it must have been for him to live his life with the image of his wife being taken from him. And to have that be the last image of her in his mind.

I think about how he put his socks on in the morning. And got out of bed.

And found the desire to eat again.

How did he find the strength to breathe?

Did he feel guilt the first time that he was able to laugh again? Was he able to laugh again?

I read another great post today by my friend Nathanael about some of the unwarranted cruelty that other parts of the world live with.

Day in and day out. And become accustomed to.

Life is not always considerate. Sometimes it feels like the weakest are the ones that take the most blows, it is the impoverished that feel the pain of yet another torturous drought.

It is the unprotected children that live in fear of great uncertainty. The elderly who are already accepting the vulnerability of age who cannot pay for another prescription.

In the end, what brings most of these people forward is HOPE.

Whether it is hope in God, hope in change, hope in tomorrow being another day, hope that someone, somewhere is listening and will make a difference.

I HOPE that the journey forward for this father and son is one of peace and love and that they can exorcise many of the demons that they have lived with the past 3 plus decades.

Knowing how life works, I am guessing they still have some bumps in the road.

But for them, I HOPE.

XOXO,
Kiran