War

There is war on my TV. It invades my home and I cannot stop it. Violence and blood and killing and evil, right here in my living room. I watch his hands on the controller, fingers moving swift and sure, taking simulated lives. The baby gazes at the imagery as she toddles his way, ball in hand. She rolls it his way, expecting him to return it. He ignores it, gunning down bad guys and dodging digital bullets.

Undeterred she eases into his lap and smiles up at him. He lifts his arms to let her sit in his lap, but his eyes stay fixed on the carnage across the room. She watches a moment even as I am already moving to get her. Not finding the attention she seeks, she moves to get out of his lap, accidently bumping the TV remote as she goes. I hear him scold her as he snatches it up and turns the TV back on, searching for the right channel. She looks to me, confused and I see hurt in her little blue eyes. Angry, I scoop her up and in my heart I claim her as mine and only mine, and retreat to safer ground.

A long time later he comes looking for us, his eyes clouded over with hours of death and destruction. He gives report on his success, and I refuse to reward him with a response. The little one's face lights up though, and she makes a beeline into his waiting arms. They interact lovingly, the past forgotten by both. The young are quick to forgive and maybe I should be too. But I am unable just this minute and so I leave them to their affectionate play to tend to household chores.

Tears fall on soft, warm towels and I pray. I pray for this man, this husband and father who does not know Christ. I pray for me, I pray for the children. And I pray for our world, where such things are accepted, and glorified, and oh so pervasive.

And I secretly plot to break the TV.

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