The older I get, the more my eyes are opened to the darkness in this world. I worked all day today, but checked my phone for any updates on the tragedy in Connecticut whenever I could. All the moms who came into my work today seemed to be holding their kids extra close. I would do the same thing if I had kids.
I was in 4th grade when the Columbine High School massacre happened. I remember seeing little glimpses on the news, but my mom would quickly turn it off or change the channel. It wasn't something for a second grader or a forth grader to see. I was told that some bad men had guns and killed people in a school and then they killed themselves. My mom didn't keep me from the truth, but spared me from the details and magnitude of it. My mom focused on how much the world needed Jesus. So that's what I needed to do. I needed to tell the world about Jesus so things like that wouldn't happen. I became quite the little evangelist during that time in my life. I tried to tell everyone everywhere I went that they needed to love Jesus.
Junior High and most of High School passed before the Virginia Tech shooting happened in 2007. I was getting ready to graduate high school and understood a little more about the fallen state of the world. I knew people who had been killed in drunk driving accidents, committed suicide, or lost the fight to cancer. Death and tragedy wasn't a foreign concept to me, but still a vague one.
I'd been in a few lock-downs that weren't drills when suspicious characters with guns were reported to be on my high school's campus. The first time this happened I was nervous, but it was a false alarm. The announcement was made over the loud speaker and then a few minutes later was recalled. The gun seen was a theater prop. Even so, all the classroom doors were to remain locked until the police checked everything. We finished the quiz we were taking in my class and were given extra credit for the disruption.
The second time this happened was more serious. The announcement was made over the loud speaker and the office lady's voice was shaky as she gave clear instructions. Shut the door and lock it, turn out the lights, close and lock the windows, close the blinds, and follow all lock-down procedures. My teacher ran to the door and locked it while shutting off the lights. I was closest to the windows so I made sure the windows were locked and shut the blinds. The room was dark and shadowy. My teacher moved her class of 30 students into the darkest corner of the room and helped us build a barricade of desks. The girl curled up on the ground next to me was crying so I held her hand and whispered to her that we would be alright.
As policemen swarmed the high school campus for 45 minutes, I constantly prayed, "God, don't let anything happen to my sister. God, please don't let anything happen to her." My sister was a sophomore and was in the classroom a few doors down from where I was. I wished I could get to her, but knew I couldn't. I didn't think I could survive if anything happened to her. I still don't think I could survive if anything happened to her.
The office lady came back on the loud speaker and said it was safe for us to leave. My teacher, still following the official procedures, told us that our class would be waiting until a policeman knocked on the door and gave us the "all clear". So 20 more minutes passed before we left the dark classroom. The campus was still eerily quiet as we all went our separate ways. And, as if we'd talked about it before, my sister stayed in her classroom and waited for me to get her. I met her there and we walked to my car together. Neither of us said much on the drive home, but we were happy to be together and off campus.
No one was hurt, but the fear of the tragedy that could have happened was still heavy. I actually slept on the floor of my sister's room that night. Just in case.
I'm not a parent, but there are plenty of precious little kids in my life. My heart hurts for the moms and dads and brothers and sisters and grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and nannies and friends of the children who lost their lives today. It just hurts.
Hurry back, Jesus. Hurry back.
I was in 4th grade when the Columbine High School massacre happened. I remember seeing little glimpses on the news, but my mom would quickly turn it off or change the channel. It wasn't something for a second grader or a forth grader to see. I was told that some bad men had guns and killed people in a school and then they killed themselves. My mom didn't keep me from the truth, but spared me from the details and magnitude of it. My mom focused on how much the world needed Jesus. So that's what I needed to do. I needed to tell the world about Jesus so things like that wouldn't happen. I became quite the little evangelist during that time in my life. I tried to tell everyone everywhere I went that they needed to love Jesus.
Junior High and most of High School passed before the Virginia Tech shooting happened in 2007. I was getting ready to graduate high school and understood a little more about the fallen state of the world. I knew people who had been killed in drunk driving accidents, committed suicide, or lost the fight to cancer. Death and tragedy wasn't a foreign concept to me, but still a vague one.
I'd been in a few lock-downs that weren't drills when suspicious characters with guns were reported to be on my high school's campus. The first time this happened I was nervous, but it was a false alarm. The announcement was made over the loud speaker and then a few minutes later was recalled. The gun seen was a theater prop. Even so, all the classroom doors were to remain locked until the police checked everything. We finished the quiz we were taking in my class and were given extra credit for the disruption.
The second time this happened was more serious. The announcement was made over the loud speaker and the office lady's voice was shaky as she gave clear instructions. Shut the door and lock it, turn out the lights, close and lock the windows, close the blinds, and follow all lock-down procedures. My teacher ran to the door and locked it while shutting off the lights. I was closest to the windows so I made sure the windows were locked and shut the blinds. The room was dark and shadowy. My teacher moved her class of 30 students into the darkest corner of the room and helped us build a barricade of desks. The girl curled up on the ground next to me was crying so I held her hand and whispered to her that we would be alright.
As policemen swarmed the high school campus for 45 minutes, I constantly prayed, "God, don't let anything happen to my sister. God, please don't let anything happen to her." My sister was a sophomore and was in the classroom a few doors down from where I was. I wished I could get to her, but knew I couldn't. I didn't think I could survive if anything happened to her. I still don't think I could survive if anything happened to her.
The office lady came back on the loud speaker and said it was safe for us to leave. My teacher, still following the official procedures, told us that our class would be waiting until a policeman knocked on the door and gave us the "all clear". So 20 more minutes passed before we left the dark classroom. The campus was still eerily quiet as we all went our separate ways. And, as if we'd talked about it before, my sister stayed in her classroom and waited for me to get her. I met her there and we walked to my car together. Neither of us said much on the drive home, but we were happy to be together and off campus.
No one was hurt, but the fear of the tragedy that could have happened was still heavy. I actually slept on the floor of my sister's room that night. Just in case.
I'm not a parent, but there are plenty of precious little kids in my life. My heart hurts for the moms and dads and brothers and sisters and grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and nannies and friends of the children who lost their lives today. It just hurts.
Hurry back, Jesus. Hurry back.
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