Today I am numb, a continent away from tragedy in the U.S. I just can’t seem to shake it.
My mother often recounts every horrific story she hears on the news, reminding me of the world’s impending doom. I dutifully listen, joke that we just need to keep our ducks in a row, and respectfully guard any other opinions to myself. Serving the poor among victims of sex trafficking and abuse, I am already well situated in the reality of the world. I pray everyday for His Kingdom to come.
I remember when the news of 9/11 hit. We had just arrived to Bolivia. I remember watching the explosions from the common room television of our language school, standing next to new friends, Franciscan priests, who grieved the loss of coworkers and friends.
I remember then, feeling a bit removed, almost gloating over our recent decision to leave it all. Despite critiques and well-intentioned interrogations, I felt confirmed in our decision to leave “the promised land.”
We’ve watched other tragedies unfold from afar, but somehow this most recent one hits me to the core. Most of my friends and I have young children. I have a first grader myself. When he was an infant, we fought hard for his life. He is my miracle, a beautiful reminder of the promise I received six years ago:
“I will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.” –Psalm 91
I think of all the time and energy we mamas put into making Christmas special for our little ones – the baking, the activities, the décor, the gifts, each of which were lovingly chosen and carefully wrapped. So much joy comes from imagining those wide eyes on Christmas day. I weep for those who’ve been robbed of that this year.
Thousands of miles away, I feel so alone in my little corner of the world, where very few around us have responded to this tragedy. After more than a decade here, I’ve tried so very hard to identify and live fully into our Bolivian reality. I wince when after speaking, people realize I’m not the Latina I appear to be. Frustration rises when those cultural clashes still occur daily. And yet today, I don’t want to be Bolivian. I want people to recognize the horrors that occurred – in my country.
For them, this is the kind of thing that happens often in America. And they’re right. This is not the first. I doubt it’ll be the last.
As I ponder it all, I recognize that I am raising a brood of warriors, little boys who fight me when I peel off their superhero costume for their weekly bath (sort of joking there!). Little boys who love their Nerf guns, Star Wars battleships and Ninjago warriors. My mother loves to mention my adamant bias as a young mother. I would never allow my children to play with guns! Four boys later, I have succumbed. I live where testosterone peeks at about 6 a.m. every day and never seems to simmer.
Yesterday I snapped. My three year old, with play gun in hand, echoes his older brother, “I gonna shoot you in the face!”
“No! NO!” I yelled. “Do you understand what guns do? We NEVER shoot people!”
It’s a bit of a joke in our house. We once had a rule that you could pretend play, without hurting anyone or anything. “You can’t shoot the neighbor, he’s nice.” “You can’t shoot the tigers, they’re God’s creation.” “You cant shoot the bad guys, ‘cuz we love them too.”
So for awhile, the kids shot the couch or the wall or their army of stuffed animals. Now my littlest ones come running to me, with cape and mask and paper towel tube in hand, sliding to my side declaring, “Mommy, I po-tect you!”
What can a girl do??
Guns or no guns. I don’t think that’s the point right now. It’s so easy to want to blame someone, something, when we’re hurt and confused.
I’m wondering today, in light of the brokenness near and far, what is it we are being called to? How do we possibly respond?
The day after the shooting, I noticed a Facebook post that I had pre-programmed weeks before:
“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men.”
–I Heard the Bells on Christmas Eve
Christmas always racks my sanity. And even moreso as this black cloud of grief hovers over us. And yet in the midst of the chaos and confusion, the invitation of the Season still remains. “God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.” In the distance I can hear that still soft voice whispering. Be still and know. Be still. Breathe. Remember for now and always, there is a Sovereign God who comes.
May He fill every empty heart and bring Peace.