I Don't Pretend to Know Why....

There, I said it.

The first thing that  makes me incredibly sad about tragedies like yesterday's is that there is so much hatred and evil in the world.

And that people were killed.

And hurt.

And traumatized.

And forever changed.

But the next thing that I find hard to stomach is that so many people are so quick to use tragedies like these to support their own political or personal agendas.

See? I told you it's not the guns that kill people. 

See? I told you that America's arrogance is causing the whole world to hate us.

See? I told you that our country was moving in the wrong direction. Just look at this.

I told you we should have closed the borders.

I told you we should have been more tolerant of others.

I told you our President would let us down.

There will, of course, be time for analyzing, and attempting to understand this horrific incident. Once we know who it was, and how it happened, and maybe even why they are so filled with hate.

And then we can--and no doubt, will--find people, and policies, and politics to blame.

Maybe even rightly so.

But that our first instinct is to use a tragedy like this to support our own political ideals makes me more than a little sad.

So yesterday, after watching some of the online coverage and reading people's comments (which I'm now convinced is a surefire way to see the worst humanity has to offer, all in one place) I turned off the computer.

And watched my children playing outside instead.

They were calling me to come to the window, and when I did, they excitedly pointed to show me that there, in our yard, was a boy.

An actual boy.

In our very own yard.

Apparently he just moved into the house behind us.

A real live boy.

We already have boys in our neighborhood. Several of them. (In fact, truth be told, we could use some more girls around here). But most of the boys--though we love them-- are a little older, or a little younger, or a little busier.

This boy was just right.

That he is living there behind us because his grandmother died troubled me.

Because somehow, until yesterday, I never knew that she had died.

The woman who lived in the house right behind us.

I wonder how it is that I didn't know this. I think back to the few times I said hello, years ago, and how she didn't seem interested in responding.

So I kind of gave up.

I make a vow to try a little harder this time.

I wonder if I should go introduce myself to his mom.

Then I wonder how I can find out her name so I can look her up on our state's online criminal record database before I introduce myself.

Look, I'm just being honest here. 

I watch them play, and wonder if this new boy will be a good influence.

Then I wonder if mine will be.

As I watch the boy climb to the top of our swing set, I wonder if his parents are the type to sue us if he falls.

After all, we don't know anything about them.

It strikes me that these kids--the ones happily kicking a ball around in our back yard--know nothing about each other, either.

Just a first name.

They aren't Democrats or Rebublicans. Christians or Jews. Rich or poor.

They just like soccer.

I'm sure my own mind will turn to who we can blame in the days to come.

I hope I will blame only the monster that did this. But maybe not.

Maybe I will find someone--or something-- else to blame, too.

But in the meantime, I will watch my children play with a boy and let their example be a reminder to me.

A reminder, whenever possible, to choose kindness, and acceptance, and love.

And with it, I will choose prayer, and compassion, and healing, and hope.

I will wish that these things are all that we need, but I will know that they are not.

Because we also need vigilance, and awareness, and justice.

And most of all, change.

How very much we need change.