I Just Don’t Know What to Say

I don’t even know when it started. I was working on the computer, as though it was a normal sort of day. I don’t remember when I saw the information; when I saw the photos; when I read the words.

And I started getting information about our church’s children’s minister. I’ve known her for years. The couple were members at our church many years ago, and then they joined a different church. But, they would come back to us, often on Wednesday evenings, when we had classes for young school-agers.

She is a strong and determined woman; she birthed her children at home with a midwife. I’m quite impressed. One of her sons came to Fun with Friends, on Science Week, I think. A while back, I ran into her and her daughter, and we talked about her coming to the next Fun with Friends. But, Covid spoiled that idea. Then, when our new pastor came on board and began to look for staff folks, this girl showed up, accepted the offer, and is now  our Children’s Minister.

This woman’s parents were born in Uvalde. This woman has relatives whose children attend the middle school there. They are physically safe, but how do they get over, and beyond, this loss.

I don’t even know how to talk about this. Or write about this.

I’ve looked at the children’s photos. I’ve seen the photos of the families, the police officers, the teachers in that classroom.

School is out, now. Everyone will have the summer to work hard to pull themselves together, again. They will make a space for all the children, all the teachers, all the parents, all the grandparents, all the aunts and uncles. all the siblings, all the next door neighbors, all the shop people in the town, all the police officers.

It’s hard work. But they can do it.

The first day of school might be the most difficult. For everyone. For every teacher. For every child. For every parent. How can a child feel safe in a place where danger struck so hard? How can anyone?

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

—St. Francis of Assisi