My friend Kami Rice (author of the Coffeehouse Journals www.kamirice.blogspot.com) invited me to her home to watch Hotel Rwanda the weekend before last. I did not realize the film was already on DVD/video until her invitation. I was unable to make it to her house, but I did get a chance to place the film in my Netflix queue.
It arrived in the mail today. Now that it's here, though, I don't think I want to see it again. The acting is powerful, the reality is both inspiring and humbling.
Something deep inside of me--either my stomach or my soul--twists into painful knots at the thought of the suffering of the Rwanda genocide that we ignored. And it twists even more painfully as I know this and continue to be so ignorant of suffering happening right now. I have been so consumed in my writing, my life and my issues these past few weeks that I've not picked up a newspaper or even watched the news in ages. My morning time of stillness where I would at least pray for suffering in the world in places I couldn't even name--well, that's been neglected these past two weeks, as well.
Watching this film a third time will only remind me that I am still so terribly short of walking as Jesus walked.