On Wednesday evening, our seventh grader had so much homework he begged to miss his faith formation session that night. I felt a little guilty letting him miss it, but we committed to getting him there next week.
Not long afterward, I heard about a police search for an armed suspect in the area. If our son had gone to his class, he would have been coming out into a dark parking lot not far from the unfolding search. I breathed a sigh of relief and figured we would wake up to news that the man who was fleeing police had been caught.
The next morning, the search was continuing. I thought about keeping our son home from school. Schools not far from us had been closed, but ours was open. Our son was eager to go, and I had to believe that he would be safe there. I have to have faith in our school leaders and teachers and law enforcement. We can’t live every day in fear.
So, we skipped the bus, and I dropped him off at the entrance. I was happy he wasn’t concerned, and I wasn’t really worried myself.
Well, I wasn’t worried, that is, until later that afternoon when a friend texted me. She had seen on Facebook that police helicopters and search teams were close to my son’s school. In the gentlest, kindest way, she just wanted to let me know.
I froze. I was with a friend who assured me it was likely a precaution. That seemed likely. But I didn’t like it. My husband called. He had heard about the search underway near our son’s school. I was calm chatting with him, assured him I was minutes from our little boy and that I would be watching for news. Then I hung up and cried.
It all seemed like too much. Not for me, really, but for everyone. The whole area had been locked inside their homes while watching, desperate for news, worried for our police officers. We had been praying for a peaceful resolution for everyone, for the safety of all involved.
My friends who lived closer to the situation seemed to be right in the thick of things, looking for information, praying for a conclusion. My worry was just a tiny one in the vastness of this whole complicated scenario. But this was my son.
Why hadn’t I just kept our little boy home? I thought of my father who has always told me that when there are two paths, you can’t pick both. You can only assume that the path you took was the better one, for whatever reason. You just need to keep going. So, here I was. I couldn’t go back to the morning and keep our son home. I just had to hope all would be well and be ready to navigate what was unfolding—as helicopters beat their rhythm in the sky.
I wanted to pray, but I was running out of words. So, instead, I texted family and friends to ask for their prayers. They wrote back with words of comfort and reassurance. I knew I was not alone. And I was reminded of the power of prayer from those around you when you just can’t find the strength yourself.
Sometimes it is easier to pray for others than for yourself. Sometimes you’re too close to the situation. All you can do is place things in God’s hands.
As I took a breath and settled my mind, I thought about how our son had his phone with him. Regardless of school cell phone rules, if he was truly worried, he would text me. If they were keeping the children locked in past dismissal, the principal would probably have been in touch. Instead, I heard nothing from our son or anyone at the school until his bus pulled up outside my house a couple hours later, right on time. And I cried again—tears of relief and gratitude.
I was waiting at our front door, which is visible from the bus. If you are familiar with middle-school-aged boys, you will appreciate what a misstep that is for a mother. But there I was, waiting and ready to give him an even more embarrassing hug once he was well inside—and out of view of his friends.
He was safe. He was fine, unflappable and unconcerned. And he told me confidently that he was going to school again the next day. As the situation kept unfolding, we continued to pray for everyone involved, especially our police officers. Finally, the search came to an end early Friday morning, and we sent everyone off to school.
Today, the injured officers still need our prayers, especially the one who is on life support at Shock Trauma. And I keep praying for the many people who lived the past few days with fear and anxiety, watching armed officers running up and down their streets, sheltering in their homes, relying on scraps of information and misinformation shared on social media to keep their families safe.
I was remembering how St. Padre Pio is quoted as saying, “Pray and do not worry.” It’s so simple and something to aspire to, but it also doesn’t always speak to me. Telling someone not to worry doesn’t always make the worry easier to bear. And I came across this other quote from St. Padre Pio.
“We must know how to confide,” he said. “There is the fear of God and the fear of a Judas. Too much fear makes one labor without love, and too much confidence prevents from considering the danger which we must overcome.”
That makes sense to me. We place our worries in God’s hands stepping forward with commitment and faith and love.
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