My “baby” is now 22 years old, almost 23. She graduated from college in three years, thanks to all of her Dual Enrollment/AP college credits. Michala left college and went out “on her own,” at the age of 21.
I no longer drop her off at school or pack her lunches. I don’t even make her breakfast and dinner anymore, now that we live in separate time zones. I knew this day would come, but it isn’t easy … parenting an adult child.
On the one hand, I guess I felt like I could better protect her when Michala was younger, living under our roof and going to school. If I had eyes on her, I knew she was safe.
Until she stepped out of my vehicle and walked into school.
EVERY SINGLE DAY I pray for my child. I always have, and I always will. But I am here to tell you, it doesn’t get easier, just because your child grows up and moves out on their own. If anything, it feels a little more challenging.
One beautiful day when Michala was still in college, she and one of her roommates went to a coffee shop to sit outside and work. They heard a loud noise, and instinctively ducked down. They thought someone had opened fire, and that there was an active shooter. It was a transformer across the street that blew.
Another friend of mine shared with me several years ago, back when their son was in kindergarten, they had active shooter drills. The kids were taught to immediately get down low to the ground and cover their heads. A truck drove down my friend’s street one afternoon and backfired, but their son thought it was gunfire, so he jumped from the couch to the floor, covering his head and yelling, “Shooter! Get down! Take cover!”
Another friend told Michala in high school that one of the things they needed to prepare to do if there is a shooting in their class, is to cover themselves with the blood of any fallen classmates, to try and drag any bodies over on top of them, so a shooter would believe they were already dead.
I cannot believe this is the world in which we live, that our children need to know these things … but they do. They do need to know these things. They need to know how to survive.
Like most of you reading this right now, I haven’t been able to sleep these past couple of days. The images in my mind are those of a nightmare … yet when I wake up, it wasn’t a bad dream. This is our reality. Shootings keep happening, our babies and teachers and janitors and coaches and grocery store clerks are being murdered in places they should be safe.
I’m a fixer. I want to fix things. You don’t feel well? I’ll make you some chicken and dumplings. You had a bad week at work? Here, I made some brownies. Your dad died? I’ll bring over some lasagna. Another school shooting? I’m helpless.
I feel like today I am just going through the motions. Raw and numb. The greatest comfort I have in all of this heartache is I am covered by the blood of Jesus, and nothing can take that from me.
My friend Lindsey texted a beautiful post this morning about why moms are so hurt and grieving after this latest shooting, and I read it just after I parked outside of Trader Joe’s. Once again, the tears began flowing, and I sat in my driver’s seat and wept for what felt like the four thousandth time since Monday.
I blew my nose and tried to make my eyes look normal, and walked inside Trader Joe’s. There they were … one of my two favorite flowers: the ranunculus. Peonies are my other favorite, and I’m told they’ll be available before too long. I picked up a bunch of pink ranunculus, and put them in my buggy. Then I turned around and got two more bunches; another pink and an orange bunch.
I don’t know about you, but I just want to sit in the shadow of His glory. I want to open my eyes and see the light of His goodness and mercy, right in front of me, in spite of the heaviness, the brokenness, and the darkness we feel this week. Before I got out of my vehicle at Trader Joe’s, I closed my eyes and prayed from a place of such pain and brokenness, “Let me see You, Jesus. Let me see You. I need to see You.”
A few short steps into the store, my favorite flowers were on display. You could call it a coincidence. I call it seeing Jesus.
Michala is on a business trip. (Look at her out there adulting!) I just keep praying for God to cover her. Psalm 91:4, “He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge.” I want to tell you I am so anchored in peace that I don’t ever worry. But with every shooting comes a bit more fear and anxiety that I have to keep picking up and placing at the foot of the Cross.
I want to tell you I do this once, and I’m better. But I’m not a liar. So I’ll be honest … I have to keep doing it, over and over. Picking up my fear, and placing it at the foot of the Cross. Picking up my anger and placing it at the foot of the Cross. Picking up my grief and placing it at the foot of the Cross.
We cannot live paralyzed in fear. If we do, the enemy wins. This is not to say we shouldn’t spend time in our grief, though. Because after the grief, we’ll get angry. And anger will spur us to get up and do something. March. Fight for safer gun laws, and red flag laws. I am not so ignorant to believe assault rifles will just vanish if we were to ban them. But I am also not so ignorant to sit back and say, “Nothing will change.” I don’t agree with that, either.
Something has to change.
Today, I’m still in grief. I don’t know how long it will last. But I know I’m done sitting back. I’m prepared to do the work to make this world a safer place. Because one day, my baby will get married and have babies of her own. And I want them to worry about whether or not they’ll have ice cream when they get home, not if they’ll get shot during their spelling class.
I know you’re grieving too. Rest in Jesus.