Suburbia & Shootings

“Smell! Do you smell that?” 

We were standing at the open deck door, our toes hanging over the white edge. He sniffed fiercely, his tiny shoulders rising with the effort.  

“Rain! Doesn’t it smell good?” 

The wind blew droplets into our faces and we inhaled the moist earthy scent of rain. Hints of hot wet asphalt mixed with the fresh promise of clean. When water started puddling onto our dining room floor, I grinned and closed the door for a while. An evening of rain soaked the silent suburban streets. 

This morning I drink coffee soberly and ponder street-side shootings. A new friend of mine mourns her twenty-six year old step-daughter at a funeral right now. 

I met my friend three weeks ago at a wooded women’s retreat. Seven women from the inner-city joined seven or eight of us from the suburbs. Together we shared stories and photos of our children. We talked about our marriages, opening wide, being accountable, and looking into God’s word for guidance. We prayed, sang, laughed and ate together. In a large screened-in cabin, we swatted bugs, peeked over bunk beds to hear each other, and laughed at late-night tirades. 

My friend spoke of her upcoming wedding at the end of this month, and paged through wedding magazines. Her daughters were to be part of the ceremony. 

This last week, though, an armed assailant walked into their home, shot her daughter, and left. No one knows why or whom. Neighborhood vigils, grief-stricken parents, and news anchor bits culminate in today’s funeral. 

I’m too new and didn’t have all the information right away so I’m here at home, praying for her, aching with her, and feeling uncomfortably quiet in my safe suburban home. 

I traced down her phone number, and corrected the wrong email address I had for her. Soon, I hope to go and sit with her, hugging her, and aching quietly beside her. 

Will you join me in praying for my friend Christina? Thanks. How can I pray for you this week? 

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