Reflections

 It’s been a week and two days since the shooting at AFC— since the night I walked away unscathed, a sadness for the loss and a heart that’s still trying to make sense of it all.

I went back there Wednesday, stood where it happened, and talked with the chaplain from the Billy Graham team. Somehow, it helped. This weekend, I left for a family wedding in Georgia — drove through the mountains, stopped at a winery, watched the sunset, and listened to a book about two sisters and their grief.

The story stirred something in me — one sister retreating into herself after her mother’s death, the other facing cancer that spread to her brain. It mirrored parts of me I hadn’t wanted to see. The way loss changes everything. The way silence becomes a language.

As I hiked to a waterfall and sat alone at lunch, I knew I have some unresolved grief with the ache of Michael’s absence. The shooting has brought that to the surface. I’ve been doing what I needed to survive, staying busy, holding onto every bit of love my kids, family, and friends have offered me. It helped but it still hasn’t been enough. A love like Michael and I had makes you feel that way. 

I haven’t been still for too long. And yet — movement has worn me thin too. Somewhere in between it all, I’ve wondered, how am I really making my life count? Maybe I’ve done well in small ways, but maybe I’ve missed a few moments too.

I had a social worker talk to me about survivors guilt recently. I’ve experienced that a little too much. But man is it a real thing. Thankful for resources, the love of community and my Lord.  

Tonight, I’m on the beach watching the full moon rise — glowing huge over the ocean while the sun fades behind me in orange and gold. My feet are in the sand, the waves steadying my breath. From the mountains to this sea, I feel something shifting.

I want to love people better — even the ones who barely know me. I want to say “thank you” more, to speak life into those who have shown up for me and to those I’ve just met. I want to build calm, find a rhythm, and feel deeply — not numb, not escape.

I’m giving myself space to rest, reflect, and listen. I don’t want to merely exist anymore.

I want to live. Fully, honestly, and with purpose. 

I know God loves me, has a purpose for my life and I don’t want to miss a minute of it. He will work this to my good and for His Glory.