The first riot sparked a second. This time it wasn't between the drug cartels, but between the family members of inmates and the prison itself. They surrounded the building, threw rocks at the gates and even created human bridges around cars to keep employees from leaving the parking lot. The prison hadn't announced who'd been killed, and the people were desperate to know if their family member inside was alright.
In the midst of the heartbreak of this news report, seeing the families' love has stuck with me. Even in one of the darkest situations on earth, a riot in a prison, love extends there. Love ties us with inseparable bonds to someone else no matter where they go.
One frantic mother told a reporter "there are children in there" desperate to hear if her daughter was still alive. Whether she means "my child is in there" or "my daughter's inside and under 18", it's clear that she doesn't see the people inside as inmates, she sees them as people who have mothers and fathers.
It's incredible that the drug cartel divide didn't seem to divide the family crowd. Surely there were members of both sides in the crowd and they all knew it. Instead they literally joined to hold hands to unite under one goal.
There's so much darkness all around us that it's scary to open my eyes and look around. I don't know why the Lord allowed this story to unfold with 49 deaths, or why a tornado killed 3 people yesterday, or why 32 Virginia Tech students were killed at random in 2007. So much darkness. I can't see the right way to think or react to the utter brokenness, and I'm stumbling in the dark.
But in the midst of that black sky, the Lord seems to intermingle the darkness with love. Love--pushing people to unite with enemies, forgive shooters, or rebuild a stranger's home. Each time love inspires an action, it's like a star hung in that black sky. The Lord doesn't leave us in the dark. He gives us a host of stars to help us find our way through the night.
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