Like many of you, I woke to news of the shooting in Las Vegas. While coffee warmed my insides, I scrolled through news websites, seeking understanding.
I didn't find any.
And even when (or if) they uncover an explanation for the insanity, it won’t suffice. Nothing will ever truly explain a mass shooting of innocent people—except the reality of sheer evil in this world.
Thus, I found it poignant when I ran across this warning, “Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with dissipation, drunkenness and the anxieties of life, and that day will close on you unexpectedly like a trap” (Luke 21: 34 NIV).
Believing in the face of uncertainty demands a lot more diligence than the naysayers comprehend.
Just last week, I stretched out on an exam table so a doctor could test the strength of the ligaments in my right knee. Confident joint laxity caused my unstable gate, I burst into tears when he pronounced the knee stable.
Surprised by my weeping, he pulled a chair close and asked, “Why are you frustrated?”
Unable to compose myself for several minutes, I finally replied, “I’m not frustrated. I’m scared. And I’m not normally scared.”
“I watched you walk in here," he continued. "You look like you have MS.”
“You’re not the first to say that,” I confided. “But I’ve had three spinal taps and a host of brain scans. The brain scans hint at demyelinating disease but the spinal taps come back negative.”
His job done, he encouraged me to call and try to get an earlier appointment at Emory neurology. But I haven't yet. I've simply been trying to believe in the face of uncertainty.
When I couldn’t find my way out of the darkness Thursday night, I lay flat in my zero-gravity-chair, waiting for the stark silence to speak. When the silence only grew louder, I realized I had to take action instead.
Numb, I cleaned dishes. Put clean sheets on my bed. Emptied the kitty litter. And hung a photo on the wall.
By Friday I described the experience to a friend, “I can usually pray or sing, or stare into perspective long enough that my soul lifts above the heaviness. But that isn’t happening this time. The heaviness isn’t just going away. I have to function in it and accept that I’m grieving again.”
I meet with a specialist in four days to be fitted for AFO’s. Two or three weeks from then I’ll receive my new braces.
Deep down, I'm aware that in a month's time, I may actually celebrate the change. Because I felt odd when I worked to get hand controls in my car. And again when we installed a stair chair from our basement garage into the house.
Every time I've faced the need for more assistance, I've felt more disabled.
On the flip side, every time I've received assistance, my world has expanded and become easier to maneuver in.
So, truly there's hope.
But maintaining hope in a dark, evil world takes work.
I just read an article about the shooting titled, "I'm only 18, I shouldn't be seeing stuff like that."
Last night I read about the young, 27-year-old athlete, Pete Frates, who suspected he had ALS after a quick internet search. Not wanting to overwhelm the ones he loved, he then carried the burden alone for a few weeks.
Even his doctors were stunned. A 27-year-old isn't supposed to get ALS.
And then there's me. I'm not supposed to be an almost 48 year-old, grandmother-to-be, getting measured for mobility aids. I've paid my dues. I married and loved a man with a brain tumor and raised our two boys after he died. I never gave up on God or demanded my way.
Yet here I am, about to put my head on a pillow like so many others, and try to keep from drowning in, "Why?"
Life isn't about perfection, nor is it controllable. It's a wild ride through beauty and heart ache, hope and despair.
And so is the Jesus story. The one already told and the one you and I are living right now.
So, take a moment. Consider the rampant heartache. Stare deep into the enemies lair. And whisper the name, Jesus.
When your personal panic builds and fear threatens peace, say it again. Louder. Stronger even.
Jesus!
Some may laugh. And others spew at your faith. But pay them no mind.
Believing in the face of uncertainty demands a lot more diligence than the naysayers comprehend.
I'm not giving up and I sure hope you won't either. Cause there's a glorious day coming.
And until then... Jesus.
All photos courtesy of pixabay.com
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