The Waiting Walk

That’s what I’ve been feeling this week. The end of a school year is always chaotic and stressful. This year more-so than others for various reasons. And of course my kids and I are still in many way adjusting to life with just the five of us at home. It’s going well, but especially with all the end-of-year events and parties, we are quite busy juggling to fit it all in well. So there’s that.

But really, this week was heavy because of events that transpired far from me, affecting people that I don’t even know. The teachers met after school Tuesday for a quick staff meeting, and our principal told us that maybe we didn’t want to watch the news that night. Another school shooting… children… gone… so many… teachers too…

It was only four years ago that I heard about the Parkview shooting. That hit hard. It wasn’t any easier this time around. As a teacher, I have gone through my room mentally and physically more than once. I’ve stood in various places to see if I could see the hallway. I’ve stood in the hallway to figure out where the blind spots are in my room. I’ve debated closet vs. escape outside. I’ve walked from my exterior door to the nearest places outside that would give cover, and imagined what it would be like to be running that path with 5th graders, hearing gun shots behind us. I keep my classroom door locked. We keep exterior doors closed and locked unless we are right there. I’ve told my own parents that if something happened at my school, it would probably be goodbye because there is no way I will cower in a corner while knowing children are being harmed. Even if I couldn’t do anything, I’d have to try.

We’ve done drills with students. It is terrifying to some of them. I always try to play it off like it’s no big deal, though sometimes while choking back serious emotion because I have a very active imagination and if this child is terrified now at just the thought of something bad happening, how terrified would she be, would he be, if there were real gun shots being heard? It is so sad.

I had to limit how much news I allowed myself to read on Tuesday and the rest of the week.

And then the politics got going again. And that feels heavy too. Both sides have points. But neither side has answers. A gun cannot pull its own trigger. Laws only apply to those who keep them. Not everyone is capable of fighting back appropriately. Politics won’t fix this problem. Laws won’t fix the problem. Self-defense trainings won’t fix the problem. All of these things have a place and should be utilized accordingly. But they won’t fix the problem.

This is a people problem. A sin problem. A mental health problem. A “world that is deteriorating and the love of MANY is growing very, very cold” problem.

There is only one answer to this problem.

The active love of Jesus.

And so I grieve, knowing my grief cannot even begin to compare with that of the parents, brothers, sisters, and classmates of those whose lives ended Tuesday. I grieve with a community who I don’t know, but feel connected to because I am a teacher too. I am a mother too. I hurt for them.

This week I tried to be just a bit more thankful even when my students were louder than they should be. When they said silly things that distracted from our lesson. When they didn’t follow procedures exactly like they should have.

Mostly they were smiling.

Laughing.

Carefree.

Full of life.

Full of love.

Just like they are supposed to be.

And their joy made my heavy heart just a little bit lighter.

And so I let this joy sit next to my grief. There is room for both today.