Next stop, Canaan

January 12, 2011

Tucson is my home, my community. And while the shooting that occurred on Saturday did not involve me or anyone I know directly, the degrees of separation are few in this little big city. The sadness is palpable as we all go about our daily routines.

The trauma of it all has caused old traumas to resurface, not just for me, but for many of us. For me personally, UMC, the hospital where the shooting victims went, was the hospital where I lost my daughter and my colon. I think of Gabby Giffords and the others, picture them there, hear references to the hospital all day long, and my body almost immediately tightens, every muscle freezing in some sort of deep, primal remembering.

I try to fathom the healing journey the survivors have ahead of them, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally and I cry out to God, Please give them the strength and courage to heal God. Please. Don't let them be discouraged.

I wish I were a better person and could say that my own troubles and worries have fallen by the wayside as the weekend's events put my situation in perspective. But I'm not a better person. My already burdened mind is ever so slowly slipping down the muddy slope of discouragement. But here's the key! I know that's what's happening. I'm getting discouraged and I know it. And I'll be damned if I'm going to be discouraged right now. There's just no room for discouragement right now. None.

Jeremy, as you undoubtedly know, is a musician. The man inhales and exhales music. And while we don't necessarily have the same taste in what we listen to, he knows what I like. He knows what I don't like. He knows what I love. He knows what moves me. His knowledge did not fail him this morning either.

"I picked up the newest Daniel Lanois yesterday. You've gotta hear this song. You're gonna like it," he said as he popped the disc into the player. The music started and I was digging the beat. The first verse, Yeah, okay, I really like this, and then the chorus started and it socked the breath out of me. A wall of voices, crying out in song: "How far am I from Canaan? How far am I from joy, from joy? How far am I from Canaan? How far am I from joy, from joy?"

I was overwhelmed and started crying. "Oh sweetie," he said as he came to sit beside me and held my head against his shoulder, "I knew you'd like it."

I've listened to that song on repeat all day. You can be in Canaan right now Abby. You just have to choose it. With every tragedy that has befallen you, you have been touched by just as much goodness, grace and love. Don't just see the tragedy Abby. See the goodness. See the grace. Feel the love. And so that's the choice I'm making today. That's the choice I'm making right now. To see the beautiful things we do to support and love each other in times of need. To see the courage we give to one another. To see the faith and hope we inspire in one another. That's what I'm choosing.

Canaan is right there in front of you.