Will she be safe today?

Will she be safe today?

I just put my daughter on the school bus. 6 going on 7, headed off to 1^st grade.

6 years old, first grade. One week ago the first 100 thoughts that would enter my head upon hearing those words were of my daughter. Only my 101^st thought would go anywhere else, and then it would be to her classmates, all of whom I know by name. 

I can hardly believe it, but right now when I hear those words, my mind first jumps across the country. I don’t blame the media for that – I have not read every latest article. I can’t. What I have read is already scarred on my heart like graffiti gouged with a rusty nail. 

I just put my daughter on the bus. I hugged her, like any other day. I kissed her, like any other day. I told her I was proud of her, that she is my pride and joy – like any other day. I told her to be a good friend and a good student – like any other day. She got on the bus and excitedly crowded into a seat with two of her friends, because in first grade it doesn’t get much better than three-friends-in-a-seat-on-the-bus. Like any other day. I lingered until the bus left. Like any other day.

But then I realized it wasn’t like any other day. I didn’t just linger. I was transfixed. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough. I couldn’t take enough of that moment in. I’ve been there before. “A girl!” the doctor said, and then they wrapped her and put her in my arms. Mother, father, daughter all together for the first time in the delivery room. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough. I couldn’t take enough of that moment in. Now I’m flooded with the same hunger, the same grasping, but the context is all skewed. That was pure joy; this is infected with fear. 

On the outside, standing at the bus stop with hugs and kisses and words and waves, this is a day like any other day. On the inside I am transfixed because I am afraid that today might be different. 

When my father died, I grieved. What I found was that grief came in waves. Whether it was week or a month or a year later – or more – an event or word or sound or smell might remind me. Without warning grief wells up again. Not debilitating sadness, necessarily, but a longing for what isn’t.

Transfixed at the bus stop, that is what happens. Is this part of grieving for families that I don’t even know? How does grief blend with joy and longing and fear? Like this, I guess.

Will she be safe today? 

I received another email from the school reiterating the old and new security measures, and I’m grateful. Prudence and forethought are good values for administrators. But I don’t have to go deep down to know they can’t prevent evil. 

“Is it safe?” That was the top question parents asked when we used to take students to Guatemala for mission work. How do you answer a question like that? “We exercise prudence and forethought.” What else can we do? I remember one year hearing that question right after a stranger shot a woman point blank in her car in the parking lot of the local mall and then drove off with her car. “Is it safe?” What do you mean? Is Guatemala safer than the local mall? We only had two answers then, and I still have only two answers. Prudence and forethought for one, but more importantly I believe with all my heart that there is no better place to be than in God’s hands. 

Transfixed at the bus stop, my unexpected welling fear is that today will not be like any other day. I have only one recourse. “God, I commit my daughter into your hands.” Of course God never waits for my permission. God’s hands hold my daughter when I’m thinking of it and when I’m not. He claimed her before I even dreamt of her.

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip—

he who watches over you will not slumber;

indeed, he who watches over Israel

will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord watches over you—

the Lord is your shade at your right hand;

the sun will not harm you by day,

nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm—

he will watch over your life;

the Lord will watch over your coming and going

both now and forevermore.

-Psalm 121, NIV

Lord, you know what I want for my daughter today. And for her classmates. And for every child today. I want today to be like every other day where she comes home from school. I pray that without shame or second thought. More importantly, I put her in your hands. Not that you need or ever wait for my permission. Open my heart to trust you in all things and with all things. Give me the peace that no amount of prudence or forethought can ever provide. Give me peace that passes understanding. And hold her tightly. In the name of Jesus Christ, who suffered, was brutally crucified, then rose again so that though we suffer we too will rise again, Amen.

Come, Lord Jesus.