On My Knees

“Seems like to me the real mental health issue here is the idea that we can simply petition a god to make these problems go away, while taking literally no actions otherwise”

They dust off their virtual soapboxes each time a tragedy like the one we witnessed this week in Parkland, Florida reveals the existence of bona- fide evil. The platform for their soapbox will be social media where anyone with a keyboard can express themselves with wayward thoughts and spurious studies. Countless comments and memes will pepper our walls like contagious germs whether we want them there or not. The perpetual targets of these soapbox gauchos are people of faith.

Upon reading the opening quoted text, I commented with the word ‘ignorance’. I was off-target in my comment. I apologize for my inaccuracy. Clearly, this statement is ‘narrow-minded-ignorance’.

Ignorance, by definition, implies a lack of experience or education. Synonymous to unknowing. Acts of ignorance innocently occur every day with no fault ascribed to the ignorant. Turning left when you should have turned right in uncharted territories is an act of ignorance. But narrow-minded-ignorance is choosing to ignore any alternative thought outside the comfortable, protective sphere you have set your soapbox in.

The statement is the epitome of narrow-minded ignorance. Furthermore, and to my ultimate point, it is greatly offensive.

Your words are an insult to every person of faith across this world who pray to their God before beginning a day that will include building schools, community centers, and health facilities in countries deeply entrapped in poverty. It is offensive to people who pray before carrying water over rough and dangerous terrains to people who would otherwise die. It is offensive to lawmakers who will pray before beginning a day preserving legislation meant to protect your right to stand on your soapbox. It is offensive to thousands and thousands of teachers that pray each morning before teaching our children reading writing and yes, even the history of our freedoms. It is offensive to every Soldier, Sailor, Airmen or Marine who prays before shouldering a weapon to protect those very same freedoms. Your words are offensive to every police officer who prays before beginning a shift that may be their last. To every firefighter who prays before entering an inferno to rescue a stranger. Offensive to every surgeon who prays for steady hands before saving a life without regard to the political or religious beliefs of the patient. Your words are offensive to every first-responder who prays for strength and protection to do their job. You have offended every mother who has prayed for her sick child before staying up all night holding a damp cloth against a fevered brow.

“...while taking literally no actions otherwise.” is literally narrow-minded ignorance. It is offensive.

The offended don’t only pray before acting. These great people of faith pray afterwards. After a maniac enters a school, killing and killing and killing. We pray for comfort not because we have no other action to take but because our faith in God is steeped in love for mankind. We pray for an end to senseless violence not because we believe God will wave a magic wand and make it all go away. We do so because we know where all good stems from. We do so because we know God witnessed the greatest act of violence ever recorded when His Son was nailed to a tree...and He was triumphant! This is the God I will take my problems to until the day I die. From my knees I will cry out to Him when evil enters the world stage.

You see my friend, I am stronger on my knees than you are from your soapbox.

Seventeen Beds

Since 1987, it has been a blessing to have children begin a new day from the place I call home. In the many places we have called home, my children didn't always have a room to call their own, sometimes they had to share a bed with a sibling. But it has always been home.

For more than thirty years, late at night, after the lights are out and dreams revealed, I quietly open their doors, peeking in to ascertain my children are safely in their beds. My nightly ritual began when they were small enough to doze in a crib and continued until they were old enough to drive their own car. Whether they were a newborn baby, an adolescent, a grandchild or even the occasional wayward teenage-best- friend I had opened our home to (I have had them all), my nightly ceremony was constant.

I must pause for just a moment to address my children directly—Yes, I knew of the times a bedroom window was quietly opened becoming a way to sneak-out, or the times the back door opened slowly but not as silently as you thought. I suppose I didn’t know of every moon lit adventure, but I promise you this, I always knew you would come back home.

Now, back to my late-night ritual. I practice this for two reasons—my love of my children and because I am the parent. This week, in the quiet community of Parkland, Florida, seventeen beds are forever empty. I think about the fathers and mothers and other loved ones who tonight may look into a darkened room already knowing the bed belonging to their child will be empty; witnessing this emptiness as they pray that it has all been a bad dream.

In 1993, I enhanced my sentinel duties by including a nightly prayer for my children. In April of that year I surrendered my life to our Lord Jesus Christ. Prior to that, I had prayed infrequently, only if an occasion dictated it; family holidays, my twice a year visit to church and of course when the Cowboys were down by seven with two minutes remaining in the game. Being born again not only opened my eyes to what prayer should be, but my reformation also revealed what being a parent truly requires of us.

Every night I pray, I ask the Lord to blanket my children with His promise, I will never leave you or forsake you. Deu. 31. I ask Him to be with them when I cannot, to let them experience His love daily. I pray He guide my awkward parenting skills to the Scriptures that teach me to be a family leader. I pray to understand His words clearly, so to share them with my children, inspiring them to desire their own relationship with Him. To be able, with love, teach them the differences between right and wrong, to recognize the realities of good and evil. But mostly I pray they will always know how much I love them.

Seventeen empty beds.

Today and for the next few days, on our televisions and radios we will hear the experts whom inevitably surface when these horrific events occur, to offer repeated answers to rehashed and well-rehearsed questions— “Can this horror be prevented?”, “When will this stop?” “How many more must die?” Debates will follow of stricter gun control, mental health awareness, security in our schools and empowering law officers to act before the criminal kills. I don’t know if any of these or all of them together are the answer. I do know we float these political balloons after each mass shooting, but the helium always runs out before answers are discovered,  and as the next less painful headline moves us along. They might consider beginning with more helium.

In the shadows of the next headline, the unanswered questions still lurk. Will fewer guns mean fewer bad guys? Or will fewer guns mean more opportunities for the bad guys? Is mental health research only beneficial after the diagnosed has delivered the deadly damage? Too late to know he's crazy now. Who will pay for increased school security? What about the schools or districts that wallow in poverty? Who will pay for theirs? Do we hire former soldiers to police our schools as we ignore the epidemic levels of PTSD? What if this newly hired employee, our guardian-elect, has concealed his own demons?

The questions are difficult. The answers elusive. We can’t undo the carnage of this week or any of the past school shootings whose images still haunt us. The pathway is gloomy. But I do believe we can begin to lessen the risk, or maybe even put an end to future schoolhouse violence. The answer is in how we begin our trek down this pathway. Before we debate new laws, before we spend billions of dollars on redundant research, before we turn on our televisions to again see the images of our children fleeing in fear a place purported to be safe; before we do all these things we must remember and embrace the commanding responsibility of parenthood. Through parenting and praying, a fresh beginning is possible.

The solutions mentioned above all require more—more laws, more money, more training...more waiting. We need less—less evil, less bad boys who grow up to be bad men, less families fractured by divorce, less fatherless households.

Yesterday’s shooter came from a broken family, passed through a broken system, and he did a terrible, terrible thing. I wonder if a parent ever once prayed for him. I wonder who will pray for him now?

Dads and Moms, grandpas, and grandmas, you have a God-given opportunity to change the lives of your children every day through parenting and prayer. Pray about them. Pray for them. Just pray. Then tell them you prayed for them. When they ask why, tell them it’s because you love them. Because you are the parent.

And then pray with them.

Tonight, when the moon appears in the winter sky, and the lights are turned low, put on your slippers, open their doors and thank God, they are yours.