On the road to healing

Things are calming down.  People are getting back into their routines, except, of course, for those whose routines will never be the same again.  Those stories are slowly emerging, and the media and Face Book are putting faces on the statistics.  Along with the tragic events of April 15 came a harvest of heroes who didn't know who they were yet.  I include in this group the people who lost limbs, yet consider themselves lucky to be alive and have managed to find "the bright side" in that.  I include those who had previously lost limbs to cancer or to wars, who have taken the time to visit and encourage the wounded and to bring them the message that the world has not ended for them, that there is a source of strength within them for the tapping that will astound them and everyone else.  These are the stories I want to hear. 

I don't know why a nineteen year old kid would do what this nineteen year old did.  I'm grateful that it wasn't my sons who brought such pain into so many lives.  I'd like to think that it was because of my superior parenting skills that the greatest violence my older son experienced last week was the "Beast of the East" rugby tournament in Rhode Island.  But the truth is we never know.  I have met some wonderful parents who have absolutely atrocious kids.  I have met some amazing kids who have absolutely atrocious parents.  And then most of us, kids and parents, fall somewhere in the middle.  Such a large part of our lives is comprised of who we meet, who we are influenced by, geography, historical accidents, you name it.  The real difference is the grace of God, and along with my prayers for the wounded, both physically and emotionally, I include a prayer of gratitude that this event was such an anomaly, and that we don't have to face this brand of madness every day.