I felt well nourished from a day with my father and sister. We went to church, visited our grandfather in the home, and spend the day together.
But it was the ceremony at the church that struck me most. The priest lit a candle for each man and women, nine total, lost in the Charleston attacks. A black man with a soulful song sang high and proud with praise and reverence for those lost.
I cried. When an attack happens, any shooting or horrible crime in masses, my immediate response is one of defense: I disconnect. I fear the media for it’s too dramatic mis-tellings, and I fear the very violent truth.
My reaction is disbelief. Then it is anger and sadness.
I also fear that a world so drawn to screens and comforts can only be disrupted by such brutality. That it will be so again and again, because this is the way to seek our attention. This is how you can churn a story that marks a place in history for the sick and twisted.
But the priest said it so elegantly today - may we seek and provide comfort and healing, leadership and unity through such times. This is the very opposite of what a hate filled man who speaks with a language of violence would want.
We all deal with a confused web of emotions, our words and our survival tactics out at the forefront, exploited again with each act of violence spreading the wildfire. I fear what happens when we learn to breath in the smoke and accept the shocks that settle in us, to await the moment of self-eruption.
I write and I pray for the healing waters we carry with us to be shared. We can work to heal for the future.