I need to write about something that's been haunting me for a couple of days. If you're a thrift store regular like I am you'll probably have noticed the other regulars. I've been seeing the same white haired lady for years and though I don't know her name, we've chatted casually a couple of times. The store staff seems to know her well and she's one of those people that I just naturally like. When she was going through chemo I overheard her talking to the sales people about it and I was impressed with the way she weathered that storm. She's one tough, matter of fact lady. I put her in my prayers and hoped she'd be OK.
Now I think I know where that toughness came from. The last time I saw her I noticed something I hadn't seen before. She was reaching up to touch a garment on a high hanger, her sleeve fell back, and there it was, a concentration camp tattoo. It's hard to think of the right words to express what I felt but, "no" was the first one that came to mind. I know the history and I don't doubt the true horror of the holocaust but this brought me face to face with it in such a personal way. How cruel and evil that string of black numbers looked. I felt sick for her and sick over that dark part of humanity that can do such things.
Yet here she is, going on with life, and you'd never know what she had been through. That strength of the human spirit is what I'm trying to focus on and not the terrible evil that we humans are capable of, and I've been struggling with it, though this post is helping me sort out my feelings.