Heaven Come Down

I click off Facebook. Sadness washes over me. A gun and nine people, the world cries out on social media, the news, the living room. Our hearts break and mourn over one more crime, one more senseless act, another gun pointed in all the wrong directions.

Will it ever change? Can we ever go back? Are we safe now under cover of all this crazy need to be free to carry a gun like a favorite purse, a trophy of right?

Our grandson fills his mammoth squirt gun the other day, I cringe. It's OK, Grandma he says, I won't point it at anybody. I sigh relief. He and brother take turns putting out pretend fires on the plastic play structure and I breathe a bit more easy. I study their efforts and watch as the fake fire is contained, at least for the moment.

Have we gone ahead of ourselves? Can we ever return to simple, to The  Donna Reed Show, Father Know's Best? Can the children see our sadness, our disbelief? Aren't we all the same color under our skin?

I gaze out at potted flowers, the bone white impatiens and pale blue lobelia. A green finch perches on the water feature basin. Our home is a haven, our church, a sanctuary for worship and how did this happen that a gun is aimed for destruction, this freedom of rights gone wrong. I think about birthday gifts all wrapped in surprise, about guns purchased to celebrate number twenty-one and how can this be? I think about kids hunched over homework and families eating together, at the table. Talking and sharing about life, about wins and losses, hopes and dreams, teachers and friends, love and acceptance.

It's Father's Day and I wonder how his father is feeling and does he know that freedom to purchase can also be freedom to destroy? It's Father's Day and I scan the cloudy sky, searching for hope.

Is that a tear I feel in this upturned palm of mine? Do you weep for your world gone mad? Have mercy, Oh God, we need you. Heaven come down, shine your precious light on those gone astray. Lead us out of the desert, into the open palm of your loving hand.