At times, my slice of office that claims the far end of my bedrooom, next to the dresser, and about three feet from the foot of the bed, strikes me as being a small sailboat bopping up and down in Lake Michigan, with no anchor, nor Coast Guard vessel in sight.

Take last week, for example. There I was, attempting to write a knowledgeable commentary on Mexico’s trucks’ invasion onto our superhighways, built and maintained by American taxpayers. In vain, did I search through the newspapers for background on the pending catastrophe. After having reported the failure to the Chicago Tribune’s public news editor, I sat back to wait for an enlightened piece of reporting on the subject.

Tuesday followed Monday, Wednesday followed Tuesday, then Thursday and Friday. Finally, on the front page of Saturday’s paper, today, September, 8th, on page 1, there was a color photo above the fold by AP’s Denis Poroy, depicting demonstrators awaiting Mexican truckers bent on delivering their loads somewhere in the United States this week, and an article by Oscar Avila, Tribune foreign correspondent, that jumped back to four half-columns on p. 13. A respectable effort, though more than a little tardy.

“Why the lateness of the hour?” I asked myself. “Too much important news to report in former issues?” I wondered. So, I retrieved Thursday’s first section and decided that the editor had chosen well: Nukes flying over U.S.; Afghans hooked on their own product; Steve Fossett still missing. Yet, a nagging doubt troubled me.

“There’s something more here,” I mumbled, “beyond the plethora of the day’s news that kept Mexico’s trucking schedule in Limbo, such as the power of corporations to keep a lid on the report until it was a done deal, beyond the ability of the American public to influence Big Business, which is gleefully counting its profits in financial houses all over the globe, while the little people contemplate lost jobs, foreclosed homes, cancelled college plans, etc.”

Yet, there’s additional fallout, friends, found on the editorial page of Friday’s, September 7th The New York Times: “The rising suicide rate among children.”

“But that’s a stretch,” you may tell me, “connecting Mexico’s rolling over our highways with possible increased suicide rates among children, teens, young adults, old adults.”

Think about it. Worry doesn’t march up to a family’s home, knock, then patiently wait outside until everyone is prepared for worry’s fallout, with a psychiatrist at a desk in the office, a small orchestra in the living room, chicken soup on the stove, and a financial planner by the window, prepared to allay any fears about bounced checks or lowered interest rates on meager savings.

No, worry seeps through windows, slips into bedrooms, disrupts slumber, turns the flashlight on tempting bottles of liquid courage in the cupboard, frays parents’ nerves, frightens everyone, from infants to college students, and blocks out the beauty and peace of God’s world.

Young people, confused with the sight of the difference between what is and what-should-be, can become frightened, discouraged about both the present and the future. And they well may ask, “Who is responsible for this state of affairs that is destroying my family, my world?”

In one way or another, we are all responsible. The media, for not possessing the compassion and courage to alert the public to the real dangers on the horizon, while there was time to head them off.

The politicians, for not broadcasting the threat to our economic and social well-being in something more lasting and powerful than sound bites.

We, the public, for our sloth in refusing to study the events that are shaping our world, and finding the strength on our knees to rise up and shepherd our nation along saner paths.

Lord, give us wisdom and courage and love to see what is before us, with clarity of vision, and will for the journey, and footsteps that falter not. Amen.

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