" I Believe in God. "

A few days after the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary, I read a reference to them as having “traumatized the nation.”  I found these words comforting because they helped me feel less alone, helped me realize that I wasn’t the only one not able to sleep much, not the only one still quick to tears, not the only one bewildered by people who could smile and laugh and talk about other things so soon after such a horrific tragedy.  I won’t call it unimaginable, because I know I’m not the only parent who is able to conjure up just about every possible danger or threat to one’s children.  The skill with which I am able to do this borders on the pathological, though, in part because I struggle with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, from things that happened to me both as a child and a young adult.  What that means for me, and for many other people with PTSD, is that events like Sandy Hook can trigger debilitating anxiety and irrational behavior like not sending my children to school the Monday (and Tuesday) following the shootings. 

I had an “out”:  our older daughter, Maggie, is homeschooled, and she and Stew were away on a trip.  Our younger daughter, Sally, is likely going to be homeschooled next year, and I suggested that she stay home with me to get a taste of what that would be like.    She was more than happy to oblige, unknowingly, my absolute terror at the thought of sending her off to school, especially with Stew, the moderating force in my life, out of town.  I kept her with me the following day as well, simply not ready to let go, knowing I was indulging my fears, but also knowing, through years of therapy, when to push myself and when to be gentle. 

I just called Stew the “moderating force in my life” and he is one of them, a big one, but really, that force is my belief in God, in Jesus, in the Resurrection, and the fact that Love is stronger than Death.  When I heard the news on the radio that Friday, in my kitchen, I fell to my knees, gasping for breath, my heart shattering in pain for those families, in fear and desperation for my children. I called Stew, hardly able to speak.  “Tell me,” I choked out, “tell me I don’t need to go get them,” for Maggie was at school that day, too.  He reassured me, as he always does, and I prayed, stumbling blindly through the rest of the afternoon.  He picked them up, and by the time I saw them, I was under control, calm, greeting them without tears and able to look into their eyes and hear about their days without letting them know anything was amiss.

What did I pray?  The only thing that came through clearly was the first line from the Baptismal Covenant in the Book of Common Prayer: “I believe in God.”  I. Believe. In. God.  Over and over, that’s all I could say, all I could think, all I had to hold onto.   Sometimes life is stripped down just to that.  

And then Christmas.  Hope in the midst of all our terrible failings.  Jesus will lead us, if we let Him, if our hearts remain broken by what breaks God’s heart. 

 

Bess