THINKING ABOUT CONNECTICUT

When I first heard the news about the school shooting in Connecticut, the first nanosecond of a knee-jerk reaction I had was to block my ears and my mind from taking it in. I wanted to close the browser, walk away from the world and hide under my covers. It’s a reaction that has developed over time, a way to cope from hearing about tragedy after tragedy. I already know and anticipate that feeling of grief and despair that will wash over my body, how my heart will suddenly weigh a ton, and my vocabulary disappears.

I read two articles that reported the incident, and then I took myself off the internet and tried to focus on work. I couldn’t. This heart, that now knows what it feels like to worry constantly about a child, felt like it was laden with a boulder and sinking into a deep ocean. Empathy, sympathy, heartache for those parents was near debilitating. I think there are incidents that happen in this life that are so horrific that you either can’t and don’t talk about it at all, in order to cope, or you talk the hell out of it, in order to cope.  Sometimes there are no words and you just stay silent. Sometimes, even if there are no words, you try anyways, and then there is a floodgate of ideas, opinions, and feelings. Sometimes the words are awkward and insufficient, but you need to write it down, less they drown forever. Terrible things that happen - genocide, war, shootings, kidnapping, rape, that crazy incident of a nanny stabbing the kids she was taking care of, parents killing their children – can paralyze, but then what? Will writing/praying/talking about it help? Will being horrified/feeling/hurting, even when you want to turn it all off, help? Will having discussions about how to prevent things like this in the future, help? I want to believe, that an answer to all of these questions is, yes.

I think everyone’s reactions, my facebook wall filling up with status updates about this, the president’s speech, my heart, are all meaningful in of themselves. It means that we are all united in agreeing that when there is loss, and pain, and suffering, all of our human hearts feel wretched. It means that we are capable of great sympathy and that the deepest grief can paralyze, but also motivate and move us. It reminds us that we have a strong sense of what is right and wrong in the world, and that we are all vulnerable and subject to the injustice that bullies us into cynicism or paralysis. 

Like any other tragedy, there is a need to have discussions about gun control, need for better mental health care, and ways to prevent future incidents. (A really great article about gun control here.)  But there’s also a time to mourn. I cried, thinking about the hurt and the loss. And I asked, ‘Why, God!’ to an empty sky. And as always, whenever I ask this question, a resounding silence. And then, a flood of surrender, a loosening of my grip, because the answer is that God is God and God knows it all. My faith means that when I say God, I mean God. I don’t mean just my piddlywink version of a God or a genie or a magician, but a God who cannot be contained, who is both bigger than the pain and small enough to offer comfort.  My faith means that I believe God knows all the pain and suffering in the world, has taken it upon himself on the cross, and has called us to take it upon ourselves, too, by healing the brokenhearted and binding up their wounds. This blows my mind, frustrates me, and fills me with hope all at the same time.

I've been hugging my baby extra tight these days, breathing her in more deeply and appreciating even times of an aching heart, because that just means that this heart is doing what it's supposed to.