Tuesday morning started out like any other. Packing lunches while passing out breakfast, trying to sneak in sips of coffee between reading paragraphs of Harry Potter aloud. The morning was not without a bit of drama, the topic of that day being three boys who suddenly reviled blueberry flavored fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt. This struck a nerve with me and I launched into a rant about not purchasing anymore yogurt until the twelve containers of blueberry were gone. Last week they loved blueberry yogurt and this week no one will touch it!? Eat the yogurt off the top for goodness sake--no need to stir it up! Bolthouses are problem solvers!
I huffed and puffed them to school and moved on with my day, which included a lengthy photo book-making session for a Mother's Day gift to my Mama. I was annoyed by the chiming of my phone indicating an incoming text message and chose to ignore it. Mother's Day was a mere five days away--I had to stay focused on perfectly arranging pictures and pairing a clever caption with each.
Upon clicking "submit" for the photo book, I finally got around to picking up my phone. The text message was a notice that all district schools had be put in lockout due to an unspecified security threat. I didn't think too much of the message, as they come far too frequently these days. I moved on to my reward for incredible focus, some indulgent time on social media. It didn't take long to discover the security threat referred to in the text message was, in fact, an actual school shooting at the STEM school just a few miles from our home. My first thought was of Darin, who has made frequent trips to the school to give presentations on virtual reality. A quick text verified that he was sitting safely in his office.
I turned on the news and tears started to fall as the terrifying scene shattered the peacefulness of my living room. Just a few weeks before, the boys were home from school because a young woman, obsessed with school shootings and Columbine, had flown into Denver, purchased a gun, and was on the loose. Every single school was closed in the entire metro area for fear of her finding a place to live out her sick fantasy. How can this be happening again?
Afternoon pick-up time rolled around. Like any other day, I made myself a cup of tea and drove to the school. Unlike any other day there was a thick tension among the parents waiting outside. Would the lockout be lifted at the scheduled dismissal time? Do the kids have any idea what is happening? How do I broach this subject, yet again, with my boys? I ran into a mom carrying an uncharacteristic look of strain. She shared that her oldest son is a sophomore at the STEM school. She was at the dentist when she heard the news and it took her close to an hour to make contact with him. An hour filled with angst and worry until he finally answered his phone and she breathed a huge sigh of relief. She was weary, having not yet recovered from that hour of not knowing if she would see her son again.
Cars were abandoned in the carpool line and parents huddled under hoods and umbrellas as the temperature dropped and rain started to fall. It seemed the weather was reflecting the cold darkness that our souls felt.
The doors to the school were opened twenty-five minutes later than normal dismissal. The group of parents moved as a silent mass, splitting off from the main corridor towards their child's classroom. The scene was quiet and orderly. The principal and vice principal propping open the main doors. Support staff blocking every exit but the main exit.
I made my way to second grade, and checked Jacob out. His teacher had guarded the kids' hearts and minds as if they were her own. She passed off the delayed release as a chance to play games and have snacks. We picked up John next door and then made our way upstairs to claim Kenny from the 4th grade pod. It was surreal. No one lingered to talk. Parents were on a mission to get their kids and get out of the school.
The questions started on the drive home. Why did they do a red flag dismissal when there wasn't a thunderstorm? I didn't even attempt to beat around the bush, but instead shared high level details of what had happened. All three boys were completely calm and unflustered by the information. They asked if the shooter was a teenager and if anyone had died. Bags were unpacked, afternoon snacks inhaled. I breathed a prayer of thanks that they weren't gripped by the fear and sadness that had claimed me.
I started the day weary from complaining over yogurt and ended it weary from the brokenness of this world. It's too much to carry all on our own. Friends and family from across the country sent messages to make sure we were ok, pledging prayers and love. Small bits of weariness began to lift. I attended my Mom's In Prayer group and ten women joined voices in prayer, which in turn caused more weariness to lift. The perfect Scripture popped up in my path, and my heart felt full and free.
"Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." Isaiah 40:28-31.
As we celebrate Mother's Day this weekend, I'm reminded that this mothering gig is a marathon, not a sprint, and we're not running it alone. I'm so thankful for my tribe who cheers me on through the uphill stretches. I'm grateful for my own sense of humor that can bring laughter over an incident with blueberry yogurt. I'm overwhelmed that the Creator of the universe sees me in my weariness and chooses to renew my strength. So I'll serve up blueberry yogurt again tomorrow morning and send my beloved boys off to school with the confidence that the God who created the universe will give me the strength needed to face it all!
