You would think that the first blog that one would post would be a happy one. And mine might have been, had I written when I first opened up my account nearly a year ago. But here I am, one year later, down on my knees and questioning God's reasoning. It's funny how when traumatic experiences happen to us, old habits left to the wayside expose themselves again.
I used to write in my journal all the time when I was younger, all the way from elementary school through high school graduation, because during that time I was dealing with a lot of pain and bitterness with God. Shortly after graduation though, I had an experience (which I will write about later) in which I reexamined and rededicated myself to my faith and the pain and bitterness I was feeling disappeared. Honestly, I probably haven't written a journal entry in 2 years--which is in part, I think, to my overcomings. But here I am again.
I am a 20 year old sophomore that attends Kishwaukee College, but I also attend a Christian fellowship group at Northern Illinois University called InterVarsity. In seeing how the vast majority of my friends attend NIU as full-time students, I consider InterVarsity a second-family and Northern a second-home. As you may know, there was a school shooting that occurred at NIU last week on Valentine's Day, and it affected all of us in different ways.
At the time of the shooting, I was on my way home from my art history class at Kish and I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that I was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Rt. 38/Lincoln Hwy and there were cops, students, ambulances, and fire trucks swarming everywhere. I was quite bewildered, to say the least. Suddenly, my cell rang and it was my dad on the line (who works as a manager in DeKalb). I picked it up and the first words out of my dad's mouth were demanding: WHERE ARE YOU?!?
My dad knows how deeply involved I am on NIU's campus (I'm there nearly everyday--in fact I was there the day before the shooting) and so to have him call me, I knew immediately that something was wrong just by the tone of his voice. I told him that I was sitting in traffic and the next thing he said was "lock your doors now!" Alarm bells went off in my head and I asked him what had happened. He filled me in, to the best of his ability, and told me that there had been a shooting at Cole Hall, and to get over to his office as fast as I could. The last thing he said was "keep a calm head" but I wondered if he was talking to himself or to me, because at that point, nothing had sunk in yet, and he was acting more freaked out than me.
I booked it over to his office where I hung out for a bit, making copies, and generally mulling everything over. Nothing had sunk in yet even then; I was almost denying that anything had happened. I even made the off-hand comment, "well maybe we'll still be able to have InterVarsity tonight if they can figure everything out in time." My denial quickly turned to shock though when I walked outside the building and saw news helicopters hovering over the campus, and my thoughts turned to my friends. As soon as I pulled out from my dad's building, I grabbed my cell and starting making calls...well...at least trying to. The cell towers in DeKalb and the surrounding areas were jammed due to so many calls going in and out. Thankfully though I was able to get through to a couple people, who had talked to other people, who had talked to other people, and so on, so it seemed like all was well with the people I knew.
An hour went by and I received a phone call from my sister who had heard the news, and she was hammmering me for information on her friend Troy. Now at the time, I had not heard anything about Troy, but I promised her I'd find out what I could, so I spent the next several hours making phone calls, texting, facebooking, and emailing people. In the process of doing this, I found out that I had 3 friends who had been shot (2 of which eventually recovered).
The next day, Kishwaukee College still had classes so I had to go to class, but the majority of my class wasn't there. It was weird.
This week has been more difficult than last I think. Up until Sunday morning, I had been walking in a haze, hoping that it was all just a nightmare and nothing had really happened. Sunday morning though, it finally hit me, and I crashed. I was in alot of pain. I was angry at the shooter for tearing up my town and the school that I've practically grown up on. I was mad at the shooter for hurting me and the ones I love. I was mad at the Westboro Baptist Church for blaming the shooter on us and the fact that "NIU is a school overrun with fags." They said that the shooter is God's punishment on us. They said that God doesn't love everybody. I was mad at them for dragging the Christian presence InterVarsity and CRU has on campus through the mud. I was mad at them for hurting those I love.
I was in a lot of pain.
And I had to get up and go to church early for worship team.
The last place I wanted to be at that moment.
Thankfully, I finally dragged my butt out of bed a half-hour and a lot of tears later, and got in the shower.
Turns out, church was exactly the place I needed to be. Being on worship team that morning helped jumpstart my healing process. Cindy (our worship pastor) asked me to play guitar and sing that morning, and picked a song in which it repeats the phrase "heal me, heal me" in the bridge. When I was singing that phrase, I literally couldn't stop--I had tears in my eyes. I was singing for NIU. I was singing for the victims. I was singing for the victim's families. I was singing for the first-responders. I was singing for Troy, Harold, and Gayle. I was singing for InterVarsity. I was singing for CRU. I was singing for all the students. I was singing for my friends. I was singing for my family. I was singing for my church. And I was singing for me.
Heal us. Heal us. Heal us.
Last night, I was given the opportunity to leave work early and go to a Grief Counseling training session with the Billy Graham emergency response team. Afterwards, the group from InterVarsity in attendance went to the fellowship hall and just sat in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, someone opened up about their experience and how they were dealing with the tragedy, and soon we were all talking and praying. The meeting was rough because it also opened up the wounds again. But through those openings, it gave us all the opportunity to lean on one another and heal together.
Last night was the first time I slept fully through the night since the shooting.
