Well, I think everybody is frustrated by the finances of the

Hear the words of George H. W. Bush, a man who stood at the helm of a mighty nation during times of storm and change: “Well, I think everybody is frustrated by the finances of the U.N. and the inability to solve problems of war and peace.” These words are not mere complaint, but the sigh of one who had witnessed the hope of a great institution clash with the stubborn realities of power, money, and human conflict. They reveal the tension between the dream of unity among nations and the endless strife that burdens humanity.

The meaning of his words is twofold. First, there is the frustration with finances—the lifeblood of any institution. Without resources, the U.N., founded to uphold justice and harmony, finds itself weakened, unable to act decisively when crisis strikes. Second, there is the deeper frustration: the inability to solve war and peace. For though resolutions are written, speeches spoken, and treaties signed, still the drums of war echo, still the sword rises, and still the innocent suffer. Bush, like many before and after, recognized the tragic distance between noble vision and harsh reality.

The origin of such a sentiment lies in the very birth of the United Nations. After the horrors of World War II, the nations of the earth gathered, swearing that never again would the world be plunged into such destruction. They wrote a charter, pledged cooperation, and raised hopes high. Yet history since has shown both triumph and failure: peacekeeping missions sometimes succeed, yet at other times collapse in tragedy; grand words are spoken, yet wars in Korea, Vietnam, Rwanda, and Bosnia remind us that human will often overpowers human agreements. Bush’s words are born from this pattern—a recognition that the U.N.’s strength is often bound by the very divisions it seeks to heal.

Consider the story of the League of Nations, the forerunner of the U.N. Formed after the First World War, it too promised to preserve peace. But when Japan invaded Manchuria, when Italy invaded Ethiopia, when Germany rose in defiance, the League stood powerless, paralyzed by lack of unity and lack of force. It crumbled under the weight of its failure, and war consumed the earth again. The U.N. was built upon that lesson, yet even it faces the same struggles: lofty ideals entangled in politics, resources, and human pride.

O seekers of wisdom, take this lesson beyond governments. For the struggle of the U.N. is the struggle of every community, every family, every heart: the difficulty of securing peace when resources are scarce, when will is divided, when old wounds fester. We are all frustrated, as Bush confessed, by the inability to end quarrels fully. Yet the call remains—not to abandon the dream of peace, but to labor with patience, even amid imperfection.

Reflect, then, upon your own life. Do you not find the same frustration? You speak of forgiveness, yet still quarrels return. You long for harmony, yet still conflicts arise. But remember: peace is not a single victory, but a constant work, a daily discipline. Just as nations must renew their efforts despite their failures, so too must you return, again and again, to the work of reconciliation in your own circle.

The lesson is clear: frustration is natural, but surrender is not an option. Even when the world’s greatest institutions falter, the call to labor for peace remains sacred. Let your actions begin where you are: in your home, forgive; in your work, reconcile; in your community, listen and bridge divides. For though the U.N. may stumble in its mission, the mission itself—to pursue harmony and end war—is the eternal duty of all humankind.

So let Bush’s weary yet honest words be remembered: “Everybody is frustrated… but still the work goes on.” Let this truth be passed down—that even when peace seems impossible, it is still worth striving for. For though the world may never fully rid itself of war, each act of peace brings us closer to the divine light of reconciliation, where nations and hearts alike may finally rest.