It seems to me that when something horrific, terrible, disgusting and incredibly heartbreaking occurs, we all try to make sense of it. For me, I can't. I can't make sense of it.
I wasn't even aware of what happened until around lunchtime when my husband texted me to ask if I was watching the news. I wasn't. I'm a journalist by schooling, and yet I find the news to be less than helpful in general because of bias and because of silly questions that reporters and broadcasters ask that leave me with my mouth hanging open saying, "Wha---did she/he really ask that?" It's like the people who call or text at 2 a.m. and say "Are you asleep?"
Anyway - I wasn't watching the news. I pulled it up on my phone. Read enough to know that a horrific event had occurred and sweet kids had lost their lives. Amazing and brave adults had lost theirs as well as they tried to protect the children in their charge.
I was sitting at home in peaceful, lala land with my three kids and we were having a break from homeschool day. We were eating leftovers for lunch. We were in comfy clothes. We were home. We were safe. And I was sick. Sick at the little I read.
Husband came home that night more upset than I anticipated. I never expected to see that from him. He went to school to be a teacher, so I think he was looking at it from that perspective. What would he have done? What if that had been his classroom? We continued to discuss over the weekend the horrors that these families are dealing with. He asked me, "What if that was Superman's classroom? And a man came in shooting? And he saw his best classmate shot in front of his eyes or he was one of the victims?"
It was this question that stopped me. Forced me to look at the ugly. Forced me to feel the pain and disgust and sadness. Because I cannot imagine if it were my babies. If my kids were the ones being terrorized or huddled in a closet praying for God to save them. And yes, that's what mine would do...pray. I cannot imagine having to bury one of mine. I cannot imagine the pain the parents and families feel. I cannot imagine if my husband had been one of the teachers.
Pillows that will never be slept on again. Dream lights that will go unused. Presents that will go unopened. Shoes left on the floor that will never be picked up again...and I would leave them there for eternity just to remember. Voices that will never be heard again. Ideas that will never be shared. Twirls that will go un-twirled. Silly faces never made again. Beautiful smiles never looked upon in person, ever, again.
Creative, amazing, talented children and adults whose time on this earth was cut painfully short. I can't make sense of it. I do know that God has a plan. I do know that God works all things together for good...and yet, I don't know why this had to happen. Why God did not intervene... It's a question I'm cautious to ask because I don't want to question God in His omnipotence and sovereignty. And still, I don't understand.
It leaves me to wonder what I would do if I were one of those parents or spouses? Would God find me faithful or would I rage in anger that He didn't do something? I hope I would be faithful. I do. I hope that my heart is transformed by HIM enough that I would say "Praise God no matter what." And yet, I don't understand.
There seems to me very few words that are comforting at this time. And yet, I know that God is God. And I know that He has the answers. And yes, HE is in control. That doesn't mean that He intervenes and disrupts our free will. And it doesn't mean that we, as believers, understand His plan or His will; however, He sees the big picture, the end result. The victory is His. And that, indeed, is comforting.
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