I want to cry.
I want to wail.
My heart is sick.
I can’t breathe.
I feel as though I am shaken to the very core of my soul.
I want to shake my fist at the sky and scream and ask God, “why?”.
Why, Lord, will there be at least 18 mommies without their little ones to kiss and read bedtime stories to again?
Why will there be more than 18 daddies who will never again be able to chase or tickle or hug their sweet kindergarteners?
And I wonder about those parents, and brothers and sisters, grandparents, aunt and uncles and friends who will feel this loss for the rest of their lives. How will they face tomorrow, when what seems like a bad dream today begins to become reality?
I think of teachers and administrators and school employees – doing their job, as so many of my family and friends who have answered that call.
I think of children, for whom school may never feel like a safe place again.
I think of first responders, who will live with this scene in their memory.
Why, Lord, why?
And I want to know, Lord, what breaks a person’s soul so deeply that destruction on a scale like this becomes a viable option?
“No matter how deep our darkness, He is deeper still.” ~Corrie Ten Boom
There are no easy answers. This story seems to get more distressing with every detail that emerges. There are no words that can bring comfort or even a good explanation.
But I am confident that God hears those that mourn. I know that He will bring a peace and a comfort that passes all understanding. And I know that He is good, even when understanding and sense eludes.
Side note: this message of Lee Strobel’s seems especially appropriate today, especially this thought:
“As that wise man once said to me: God’s ultimate answer to suffering isn’t an explanation; it’s the incarnation. Suffering is a personal problem; it demands a personal response. And God isn’t some distant, detached, and disinterested deity; He entered into our world and personally experienced our pain.”
And in that, I find great peace.