Oh yes. I believe that change can happen. I believe we can make a difference. I believe in the young of our nation who have taken the reins and somehow, somehow, have done, are doing, what we adults have not been able to do.
Yes, I’m still talking about gun violence and the movement that sweeps our beloved country.
Today is the March For Our Lives. Across the country hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of people, mostly school aged, rally to demand gun control, to demand that our congressional leaders take a stand, to demand an end to the inaction in Washington.
These eloquent young people know, first hand, the grief of losing family, friend, teacher, coach. They understand that our schools and streets aren’t safe havens. And they want change.
How proud of them I am. It fills me with hope, not just that we’ll see, finally, common sense changes in our gun laws, but it makes me glad for America’s future.
These passionate, caring children will have their voices heard. And I believe that years from now, when these same children run for office, become parents, teachers, coaches, business men and women, skilled technicians and workers, they’ll remember what it took to make a true and good America and they’ll work hard to keep it that way. I believe they’ll make sure it stays a country of, by, and for the people.
All the people.
I am a coward. Worse, I am a passive coward. Not only do I not speak out when injustice happens, but I let the injustice slide on by and drift into the “can’t do anything about it anyway” bin.
Not this time.
Another school shooting happened this week, not, what? little more than a week from the last one? This time it happened in a Maryland school. A kid shooting at kids. Yeah, it was only one kid who got killed. Yes, one other student got hit by gunfire. Good that the officer on duty stopped the shooter before others were hurt or killed. It was still traumatic, senseless, and left more grieving parents and families to wonder why, more school officials wondering how to make their school safe. (Not safer. SAFE.)
Ho Hum. Another day at the school lottery firing range.
When is it enough?
When do the adults in this country do what we’ve watched our young ones do? When do we start kicking and screaming and pointing fingers and demanding that something be done to stop this?
Someone said to me the other day, “Nobody in Washington will do anything to move a solution forward until one of their own is shot or killed.”
We’re waiting for the right kid(s) to become targets so somebody will do something?
And this is even more pathetic. When the young people started their movement, calling attention to their own need to feel safe, what did this coward do?
I sat on my comfortable sofa in my comfortable living room, drink beside me, and applauded these brave young lads and lassies. I applauded these male and female Davids going against the unmoving, unbending, locked into place Goliaths in Congress. And I cried. I cried because I’m not smart enough, wise enough, courageous enough, energetic enough, to join them. To yell, No More. And I prayed. I prayed for the dead, the wounded in spirit as well as body, and I asked God to let it end.
He told me this was our task. He said He would help if we asked for His help, but that we had pretty much forgotten about Him and He also reminded me that the mess we’re in is the mess we created.
I have no idea if making twenty-one the legal age to buy guns, or outlawing the sale of the super weapons and bump stocks to general public or doing extensive background checks or any of the other suggested possibilities will help. But it is a place to start. Doing nothing is just that. Nothing. And the way I see it, there are way too many people sitting in the hallowed halls of Congress doing that. And the ball really is in their court.
There have to be national standards regulating guns. Guns kill. Don’t feed me that stupidity about it’s people with guns who kill. That is a true statement. But if the people who would do harm to other people had a harder time getting the guns they would use to kill, there would be far less killing. Guns kill. They kill because they were made to do just that, whether for hunting bear or hunting students. They kill.
While I’m on the soapbox here, let me say the idea of arming classroom teachers is about the dumbest idea I’ve heard. I come from a family of teachers, and I can’t imagine any one of them ever becoming a pistol packin’ mama or papa. I realize it only takes one good shot to take down an aggressor, but I wonder how many semi-trained teachers could fire that one good shot?
Last thing: I’m not writing this to start an argument with anyone. I’m writing this because something has gone terribly wrong in our beautiful world and I want us to do something about it. I do believe prayer is a good place to start. God not only loves us, He listens, and if we ask for His help, He’ll give it, in ways I can’t begin to imagine. He’s God. He’ll figure it out.
And I’m really tired of being a passive coward.
I’ll say it up front. This blog is all about God.
During this season of Lent, I made a resolution to begin each day with Dynamic Catholic.com.
It’s a website hosted by Matthew Kelly, the inspired head of the Dynamic Catholic organization, and it offers a question or statement each of the forty days of Lent about who we are, what we want, our values, and our role in life, all in relation to God’s plan for us.
Recently, Matthew asked the question, “Why do we complicate things?”
It isn’t a simple question. It’s all tied up in who we think we are, what we think we should be doing, and most important, what, really, are we here for?
Right now, this minute, I don’t have answers. I want to know what God wants me to do. I want to be the person he wants me to be and I want to know that I am alive for a reason.
I know the Catholic catechism clearly spells it out. We’re here to know, love, and serve God. Easy?
No. Complicated. We live in a materialistic world , a world of “me,” where it’s too tempting to ride the wave of more instead of enough. God gets pushed aside so we can exercise that little freedom to choose thing and what’s easy is forgetting that we each have a purpose in life, that God always has his eyes on us, that he loves us unconditionally and that, if asked, he’ll guide us through the maze of life.
I like simple. I like the idea of God being in charge. It’s actually a relief. Thing is, liking it, wanting it to happen and letting it happen are different. See? Complicated. But I’ll keep listening for the Voice that guides and one of these mornings when I’m watching the shadows give way to the sun and thinking about whatever God question Matthew Kelly asks me to think about, I might see the light, no, feel the light, God’s light, shine into me and radiate out, so it might touch others.
Wouldn’t it be something if we allowed God’s light to fill us up and spill into those around us so it multiplies thousands of times?
Now that would be uncomplicated.
This is a great recipe to keep and pass along. So happy to share a fun, tasty blog.
After posting quite a few delicious – but admittedly not so healthy – recipes lately I figured it was time I posted a healthier snack.
I have always been a fan of zucchini fritters. You manage to consume a good portion of veggies in a serving but the fritters themselves don’t taste particularly healthy – in fact, to me, they have always tasted a little bit like savoury pancakes.
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If Winter and Spring were two of Mother Nature’s four children, I’d picture them as twins, boy and girl.
Winter, the only boy of the four, is mischievous and teasing, sometimes rough and unkind, in everybody’s face, testing his powers during the season given him by his mother. I can see him sculpting ice fantasies one day, snow castles the next, tiring of it all sometimes, allowing his sister Spring’s sun to burn through the cold, but never for long.
Spring would have her hands full, keeping her brother within his boundaries, out of hers, practicing patience while waiting for her turn to rule. As the seasons begin to merge, she tests his waning strength, subtly encouraging snow melt by increasing the warmth of the sun.
Winter responds with tantrums that explode into late snows and icy rain, and the new sprouts who’ve answered Spring’s call, curl back into the ground. Spring doesn’t cave. She boxes Winter’s ears with warmth and blue skies. Finally, Winter yawns and sinks into his cozy corner to sleep until his sister, Autumn, wakes him.
It’s fantasy, I know, but the give and take of winter/spring this time of year is maddening, with seventy degrees one day, dipping to thirty the next. The roses think it’s spring, and I wonder if their tender new leaves will survive this late surge of cold. Daffodils, hyacinth, crocus, and snowbells brighten gardens today, but a late snow will destroy the blooms. Our meteorologists say this dip won’t last but also warn that the roller coaster ride of warm/cold is probably not over yet.
So giving the seasons personality and building a story around them . . . well, that’s what writers do, right? Besides, It helps make this unsettled weather pattern more acceptable.
But I wish Spring would get on with it and send her brother to his corner to sleep.