I rejoice this morning with scores of people around the world as the last boy and coach were lead from that cave in Thailand.  This ordeal has left me breathless  over the past couple of weeks. There have been more than  a few nights where I have sat up in bed, feeling anxious for the boys and their parents and fearing for the brave rescue team.   It could be that any story involving kids always tugs at my heart.    It could also  be that I am claustrophobic.  I break out into a cold sweat at the very  idea of going several  kilometers into a cave and then having it fill with water.   Double yikes.   I won’t even go on a water slide in an enclosed tube!

What strikes me most about this story is the connection of humanity.   It doesn’t matter that these children and their parents don’t speak our language or salute our flag.  It doesn’t matter if they are Buddhists.  What matters is that they are children whose letters revealed courage,  a fear of being bombarded with homework, and a love of fried chicken and barbecue.  I think I know some kids who can relate.

I can’t help to wonder if God smiled hearing a common prayer spoken in multiple languages over the past two weeks.

People are people.  We love.  We worry.  We cry and mourn.  We care.  For the first time in a long time this story gives me hope for a peaceful, connected world.