Roses is.
Love will.
And we can.

As we bounce across the desert toward the cradle of civilization, I'm committing her little face to memory.

Her name translates to "Roses." Our medical clinic roams this part of the world providing care, and today it's Roses' turn.

Mama places her little bouquet on the doctors' table, and they do more than the minimal, more than just their jobs—they adore her.

We all adore her.

The last few days have been more death-filled than usual. We saw an ISIS fighter strung up in a village square, crucifixion-style. We visited the mass graves of Yazidis and heard stories of survivors.

We saw moldy piles of clothes, left by women robbed of more than I can say aloud.

We saw new front lines of conflict that had nothing to do with ISIS and everything to do with militias, power, and money, all at the expense of the local people.

Yet through all of that, there's an ancient theme—maybe you already know what I'm going to say?

Life insists.
Beauty insists.
Love insists.

Nothing Good will ultimately be denied, and the Great God of Love is everywhere, calling every right thing into existence.

But every time we drive away from trips like this, I'm reminded that this really isn't about what we believe but about how we believe. How will we choose to live? My heart can't take in any more dogma—I'm surrounded by the stink of all that, that young man's destroyed head dangling across his chest from that cross haunts me. Easter will never be the same.

No, spare me the concerned emails. Hang onto the pithy truths or verses or proverbs.

If we can't also recite them over that crucified ISIS fighter, to those survivors of sexual enslavement and genocide...if we can't speak them over those mass graves full of kindergartener bones—if we can't live it every single day with the firm belief that sweet Roses is worth it, that Love will always insist, and that we can live full of agency to make this world a better home...we're wasting our time.

But Roses is.
And Love will.
And We can.