Fruit Inspection

I enjoy reading our small town newspaper, with the highlights of Friday’s high school football game, upcoming community events, and stories of local residents who are trying to make a difference in this area. On the other hand, I really, really, really try to avoid the Atlanta news on TV each day. It’s so depressing. Between the murders, abuse, horrific car accidents, home invasions, and house fires (I don’t understand why the fires are news worthy anyways), they manage to stick in there a total of about 2 minutes of worldy news.

So I stick to my local newspaper, living a sheltered life I suppose, being naive to the fact that child predators are lurking around every corner. But every once in a while, like this morning, I’ll have the radio on during breakfast and hear news highlights every 30 minutes. That’s when I first heard the story of another school shooting. “Ssshhhhh!” I looked at my kids and put my index finger up to my lips. What did he just say?

When Emery went down for his morning nap I jumped on the computer and found out a 32 year old man killed 5 girls in an Amish country school. He wasn’t Amish and had nothing against the Amish. Apparently he had molested 2 girls twenty years ago and was haunted by it. He was having dreams about doing something like that again. So instead of seeking help, he “solved” his problem by shooting innocent children. And then, shot himself, of course, as any coward would do.

What heartache for those poor families. One family lost 2 girls, ages 7 and 8. I wonder how much the Amish people know about wordly news. If they know about Columbine or the other school shooting last week? Do they know that they are not suffering alone?

I get angry when I think about all the unanswered questions I have. How many more must the parents of these beautiful girls have? My soul cannot fathom the depth of their loss. The innocence, the dreams, the smiles and hugs and kisses. Gone forever. In a moment.

Two weeks ago Jeremy was in a helicopter crash. He called me when he got back to the office. His voice was cracking and he was obviously shook up. They were 500 feet in the air when the blades stopped. He said he thought the pilot was kidding when he began calling in the distress signal. Then he said, “I knew he wasn’t playing around when I saw the fear of God in his eyes.” The pilot manged to crash land the aircraft on its feet, in the middle of a football field. As they regained their composure, the pilot told him that given their altitude, location, and the severity of the problem, they had a 5% chance of survival.

The conversation on that Friday afternoon for me was surreal. He’s telling me the story and my kids and I are outside on a gorgeous day, playing in the sandbox. My voice was concerned and reassuring because he was upset. I didn’t get the magnitude of the situation until Saturday morning. I really thought about what I would be doing that morning if he would not have lived. I certainly wouldn’t have been cleaning up after our morning pancakes and watching the kids color together at the kitchen table. What would that call have been like on Friday? Who would have called me? Where would I go? What would I have done? How would I tell Savannah?

Then I cried. And I thanked God for our little five percent miracle. And thank God now for all of the children who have survived the school shootings this week, in Colorado and Pennsylvania. But I grieve and pray for the families who were not so fortunate. My hope is that they will somehow and in some way be able to find their smiles again. God bless ’em.