Thinking of Vegas
Each morning, I drive my car to school and I back into "my spot."
My buddy and I both do this, parking next to each other, and my friends at school sometimes take notice when I'm not in my spot on any given day or at any given time during the day when they might look out at the parking lot. And each day when I get to "my spot," I put the car in park and say a little prayer to get my day started. It goes like this:
Lord,
help us to go forth with steady steps as we face the many days ahead. Help us to live certain that You provide faith in darkened hours, courage in despairing nights, and calm in depressing circumstances. Help us to revel in Your joy, recall Your blessings, and walk in the light. Help us to live, so that among days it were our last, it would represent in living our finest, in loving our Savior, in dying one benediction of noble character.
And then I pray for other things (see: patience) when I'm about to go hang out with three 90-minute class's worth of pre-teens for the next eight hours.
But I've bolded certain words above tonight because I have Las Vegas on my mind. It's difficult not to keep in mind the city that just endured the deadliest shooting in our nation's history. Especially when it's the city that was home to my wife and her family for so many years, and the city in which I have extended family in nearby Henderson, Nevada.
I am sick of the violence in our country and our world. I am sick of it, and it makes me sick. I don't know what to do on an individual level, but I am sick of the guns and the stabbings and the bombs and whatever tomorrow will bring. My heart hurts for those affected by this most recent tragedy, and the fact that we have to use the phrase this most recent is bothersome in its own right.
I can remember seeing the news about Paris, and Aurora, Colorado, and Orlando last summer. I can remember Kristin talking to me as I got the news on my phone and flipped on the news about Orlando, and I literally remember feeling sick. I also remember barely listening to her as, in that moment, grief overwhelmed me.
You see, I was born right outside Orlando. Eustis, Florida--about 40 miles northwest of Orlando. I couldn't believe we were seeing this same old script so close to a city that obviously means something to me.
Which oddly enough brings me to my next thought. I'm not sure if you might have caught my last picture on social media, but Kristin and I are having a baby. We're very excited--or "v" excited if my sister's taught me anything about hip lingo. Right, Beth?
No joke, we are expecting our little blessing April 1 next spring. Little bugger wants to be here for baseball season, I guess.
And while it might seem odd to start this post the way I have and end up here, it's because I'm slightly concerned for this world our child will be entering. I'm reminded of the Black Eyed Peas and their hit song "Where is the Love?" Ideally, I would love our incoming kiddo to be entering a world of kindness and peace and love and lifting people up, rather than tearing them down. But that's obviously not the world we're living in these days--and it's a damn shame.
So I'm thinking of Las Vegas tonight, and Paris, and Orlando, and Charleston, and Aurora, and every other city that's been affected by violence in our world. I'm tired of being #InsertLocationHereStrong. I'd rather not have to come up with those hashtags in the first place.
And I'm reminded of that prayer I repeat to myself every morning. We need that faith for these darkened hours, that courage for these despairing nights, and that calm for these depressing circumstances.
We need help with that reminder to recall our blessings every day, something Kristin and I seem to be doing every night these days before we fall asleep.
We need to live so that in days if it were our last, it would represent in living our finest.
Amen.
My buddy and I both do this, parking next to each other, and my friends at school sometimes take notice when I'm not in my spot on any given day or at any given time during the day when they might look out at the parking lot. And each day when I get to "my spot," I put the car in park and say a little prayer to get my day started. It goes like this:
Lord,
help us to go forth with steady steps as we face the many days ahead. Help us to live certain that You provide faith in darkened hours, courage in despairing nights, and calm in depressing circumstances. Help us to revel in Your joy, recall Your blessings, and walk in the light. Help us to live, so that among days it were our last, it would represent in living our finest, in loving our Savior, in dying one benediction of noble character.
And then I pray for other things (see: patience) when I'm about to go hang out with three 90-minute class's worth of pre-teens for the next eight hours.
But I've bolded certain words above tonight because I have Las Vegas on my mind. It's difficult not to keep in mind the city that just endured the deadliest shooting in our nation's history. Especially when it's the city that was home to my wife and her family for so many years, and the city in which I have extended family in nearby Henderson, Nevada.
I am sick of the violence in our country and our world. I am sick of it, and it makes me sick. I don't know what to do on an individual level, but I am sick of the guns and the stabbings and the bombs and whatever tomorrow will bring. My heart hurts for those affected by this most recent tragedy, and the fact that we have to use the phrase this most recent is bothersome in its own right.
I can remember seeing the news about Paris, and Aurora, Colorado, and Orlando last summer. I can remember Kristin talking to me as I got the news on my phone and flipped on the news about Orlando, and I literally remember feeling sick. I also remember barely listening to her as, in that moment, grief overwhelmed me.
You see, I was born right outside Orlando. Eustis, Florida--about 40 miles northwest of Orlando. I couldn't believe we were seeing this same old script so close to a city that obviously means something to me.
Which oddly enough brings me to my next thought. I'm not sure if you might have caught my last picture on social media, but Kristin and I are having a baby. We're very excited--or "v" excited if my sister's taught me anything about hip lingo. Right, Beth?
No joke, we are expecting our little blessing April 1 next spring. Little bugger wants to be here for baseball season, I guess.
And while it might seem odd to start this post the way I have and end up here, it's because I'm slightly concerned for this world our child will be entering. I'm reminded of the Black Eyed Peas and their hit song "Where is the Love?" Ideally, I would love our incoming kiddo to be entering a world of kindness and peace and love and lifting people up, rather than tearing them down. But that's obviously not the world we're living in these days--and it's a damn shame.
So I'm thinking of Las Vegas tonight, and Paris, and Orlando, and Charleston, and Aurora, and every other city that's been affected by violence in our world. I'm tired of being #InsertLocationHereStrong. I'd rather not have to come up with those hashtags in the first place.
And I'm reminded of that prayer I repeat to myself every morning. We need that faith for these darkened hours, that courage for these despairing nights, and that calm for these depressing circumstances.
We need help with that reminder to recall our blessings every day, something Kristin and I seem to be doing every night these days before we fall asleep.
We need to live so that in days if it were our last, it would represent in living our finest.
Amen.
