The past two days have been a whirlwind and at the same time it feels like the minutes have inched by. Is that possible? How does that happen? I've tried to form cohesive thoughts about the tragedy that my community has seen and I'm not sure I have any. But putting pen to paper (or fingers to keys as the case may be) helps me and so I'm going to try to make sense of my feelings and my thoughts, even though there may be no sense to hold onto.
On Thursday when I got the text that campus was in lockdown I was already in Bellevue. This quarter I've had a class off campus and I carpool there with three friends. We try to get there early to beat the traffic and that punctuality meant we weren't at SPU when the shooting began. The four of us sat in a Starbucks, huddled around a laptop that was streaming the news and texted with our friends. I felt this cold, biting fear as I waited to hear that the people I love were ok, I also wept as I thought about the friends who were never going to get the "I'm ok, I'm in lockdown and waiting for information" text. We waited in that Starbucks until we got a text that campus wasn't on lockdown anymore and then we got in the car and drove back. We just wanted to be with out friends, our teachers, and our school. At one point on the drive home I felt such sorrow because I realized even if we were all safe, we were never going to be ok.
We aren't ok. I'm not ok. My heart is broken. A man walked into one of our halls and opened fire and everything changed. We want answers and there just aren't any. A life was taken and others were severely injured (both physically and emotionally) and that can't ever be erased. I'm angry and devastated. I'm broken and fearful. SPU is now part of those lists: Sandy Hook, UCSB, Virginia Tech, SPU. I hate that list. I don't want to be on it. I don't want it to exist at all. But here we are. We can't go back to before June 5th. Our identity carries this now.
But we aren't simply this event. There's a reason that Seattle Pacific University is a special place.
Do you know what happened immediately after this event? My school's leadership team planned a prayer service. A few hours after lockdown was lifted we poured into that church. People were sitting on the floor, standing in the aisles, piled onto the stage, and still we didn't all fit. Teacher, student, administrator- we were all there. We held each other and cried and sang and prayed. Our amazing Dr. Spina spoke words of truth over us. Words we needed to hold onto so desperately. We recognized that this event wouldn't rip us from each other. This event wouldn't steal our community.
Do you know what happened that night? Students took it upon themselves to form a candlelight vigil. They gathered and cried and held tightly to the truth that we aren't alone in this tragedy. Our God laments as well and we walk with each other.
Here's what has knocked me over: my teachers. My wise, sensitive, amazing teachers have cared for us even when I know they themselves need to be cared for. I got emails from all of them on Thursday night, saying that they would be on campus Friday and that if any of us needed to process we should feel free to come by. These men and women were huddled in classrooms during lockdown too, but they wouldn't let the fear win. They are teachers and leaders and so they teach and they lead. They teach me that love and compassion win over bullets. They lead me towards the throne room of the King and I am proud to follow them.
Yes, we are broken. We aren't ok and I think it will be a very long time till we are. In fact I think all of us will carry June 5th on our backs for the rest of our lives. It will always be part of our story. Yet, I don't think I'll ever be able to think of that horrific day without also thinking of the way my friend Anh grabbed my hand in Starbucks, reminding me I wasn't alone or the sound of voices singing praise to our Lord in that packed prayer service. I'll never be able to remember June 5th without getting choked up at the image of Dr. Watson waiting in his office to pray and process with his students or the pastoral staff of countless churches offering their ears and arms to those of us who needed it.
Yes, we are broken but that isn't all we are.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Shannon...
It is with a heavy heart that I find myself typing another blog about the death of a loved one. It seems like we were just beginning to find a way to put one foot in front of the other with the loss of Mary and now here we are, mourning Shannon. I don't have words for the heaviness of this grief. I just don't. And I'd decided that I wasn't going to write a blog about Shannon because it just seemed like too much- too much hurt, too much sorrow, way too much loss. But I can't sleep tonight because of these words I have within me and so here I am, spilling them onto the screen...
I imagine over the next few weeks Facebook will be overloaded with stories of who Shannon was, in fact the stories are coming already and it hasn't even been 24 hours since she died. There will be stories of her strength and courage, stories of how she cared for her family, stories of her commitment to the Watt's Powerhouse food bank, and stories of her faith. There will be the "big" Shannon stories, like how she bravely worked at LAX during those first days of 9/11 (Special Agent Kitten through and through), stories of her time in Hawaii with Erin, stories of how much she loved walking on the beach, or the marathons she ran. I've tried to figure out what my "big" Shannon story is and I find that I don't have a "big" story- just a quiet one. A simple memory that I will wrap carefully and place in my heart. A small story that will give me the courage to live a life as bravely as Shannon did.
Many, many moons ago I was working as the high school intern at St. Andrews. As part of my job I planned a "girl's retreat" weekend with my co-leader, Chelsea Hellinga. We planned a fun overnight at a fancy hotel and we were excited to spend some time with our small group girls, lounging by the pool and staying up late. One of the lovely ladies that went on the trip was Colleen Hamilton. We had a wonderful weekend and I didn't think much more of it until the next week.
The next week I was at the Hamilton's for dinner, they hosted us college kids weekly, feeding us and entertaining us with their banter. Shannon pulled me aside and said she wanted to thank me. I asked her what for and she said that Colleen had so much fun at the retreat and she was so glad. I told her she was more than welcome, and I figured that this was just another parent thanking her kid's youth leader for getting her out of the house and bringing her home in one piece. But Shannon grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes and said, "No, thank you. Colleen has been feeling out of place at church. I feel like she's been drifting a bit and she needed this. I've been praying that Colleen would feel connected again." Then she gave me a big hug and sent me on my way.
Here's why that moment has always stuck with me. Shannon taught me something really important about being a parent that night. First, she taught me to know your kid. I was so shocked that Shannon was that tuned to what her daughter was feeling. She knew Colleen. She knew what her child needed. Shannon loved her children fiercely but beyond loving them, she KNEW them. She was committed to understanding who her children were and this small moment taught me how important that is. Finally, I'll never forget the fervor with which she spoke about praying for Colleen. It was clear that this wasn't some half-hearted prayer. These were "knock on the gates of heaven" prayers. Shannon was constantly lifting her family to the Lord, trusting him to cover what she couldn't.
Maybe tomorrow I'll think of a funnier Shannon story or a Shannon story that has some deep insight, but tonight I'm happy with my simple tale. I feel so honored that I got that five minute conversation with Shannon because it planted some very important seeds deep within me. I know that Shannon's legacy lives on in her children and her husband and even Rudy. But Shannon's legacy will also live on in me as I strive to listen and learn who the people around me are and as I do my own pounding on heaven's doors.
I imagine over the next few weeks Facebook will be overloaded with stories of who Shannon was, in fact the stories are coming already and it hasn't even been 24 hours since she died. There will be stories of her strength and courage, stories of how she cared for her family, stories of her commitment to the Watt's Powerhouse food bank, and stories of her faith. There will be the "big" Shannon stories, like how she bravely worked at LAX during those first days of 9/11 (Special Agent Kitten through and through), stories of her time in Hawaii with Erin, stories of how much she loved walking on the beach, or the marathons she ran. I've tried to figure out what my "big" Shannon story is and I find that I don't have a "big" story- just a quiet one. A simple memory that I will wrap carefully and place in my heart. A small story that will give me the courage to live a life as bravely as Shannon did.
Many, many moons ago I was working as the high school intern at St. Andrews. As part of my job I planned a "girl's retreat" weekend with my co-leader, Chelsea Hellinga. We planned a fun overnight at a fancy hotel and we were excited to spend some time with our small group girls, lounging by the pool and staying up late. One of the lovely ladies that went on the trip was Colleen Hamilton. We had a wonderful weekend and I didn't think much more of it until the next week.
The next week I was at the Hamilton's for dinner, they hosted us college kids weekly, feeding us and entertaining us with their banter. Shannon pulled me aside and said she wanted to thank me. I asked her what for and she said that Colleen had so much fun at the retreat and she was so glad. I told her she was more than welcome, and I figured that this was just another parent thanking her kid's youth leader for getting her out of the house and bringing her home in one piece. But Shannon grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes and said, "No, thank you. Colleen has been feeling out of place at church. I feel like she's been drifting a bit and she needed this. I've been praying that Colleen would feel connected again." Then she gave me a big hug and sent me on my way.
Here's why that moment has always stuck with me. Shannon taught me something really important about being a parent that night. First, she taught me to know your kid. I was so shocked that Shannon was that tuned to what her daughter was feeling. She knew Colleen. She knew what her child needed. Shannon loved her children fiercely but beyond loving them, she KNEW them. She was committed to understanding who her children were and this small moment taught me how important that is. Finally, I'll never forget the fervor with which she spoke about praying for Colleen. It was clear that this wasn't some half-hearted prayer. These were "knock on the gates of heaven" prayers. Shannon was constantly lifting her family to the Lord, trusting him to cover what she couldn't.
Maybe tomorrow I'll think of a funnier Shannon story or a Shannon story that has some deep insight, but tonight I'm happy with my simple tale. I feel so honored that I got that five minute conversation with Shannon because it planted some very important seeds deep within me. I know that Shannon's legacy lives on in her children and her husband and even Rudy. But Shannon's legacy will also live on in me as I strive to listen and learn who the people around me are and as I do my own pounding on heaven's doors.
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