Seven years have gone by since that horrific morning in Blacksburg. In some ways it feels like yesterday and in other ways it seems like ages have passed. That day our son was approaching his first birthday, now he's a second-grader; our daughter, she wasn't even a thought.
I can remember so much of that day, 4/16, a day Hokies everywhere memorialize. A day we all change our Facebook pictures to the VT ribbon. A day we pray for the families and friends deeply affected by the loss of loved ones so senselessly. And a day we all remember where we were and what we felt when we heard the news.
That morning, we were at a Cru staff meeting a few miles from campus when we got a phone call from one of the Moms on our team who was traveling out of town and heard on the radio that there had been a shooting on campus. Immediately we turned on the TV to see what was going on. We watched, along with many around the country, as the number of victims rose and rose throughout the day. There was nothing we could do but watch and pray.
Eventually we decided as a staff team that we should make sure everyone in our movement was accounted for so we began calling students we knew to see if they were OK and asking them about others. We learned that campus was on lock down and many students had to stay in their classrooms all over campus. Tracking down students took all day because cell phones were jammed with terrified parents calling to check on their children.
That night we gathered as a movement with a few other Christian ministries on campus to pray. It was there that I found out that Lauren was missing. Her best friend hadn't been able to reach her, her roommate hadn't seen her, and she had class in Norris Hall that morning. Once again, we prayed.
My heart sank when Lauren's best friend, along with a group of students, went to her room only to find that she still wasn't there well into the evening. We could only think the worst but prayed for the best case scenario. Maybe she was just injured or was at the hospital with a friend. After all, this girl loved God. Surely He would spare her life. The next day I got a phone call that she was one of the 32. She was one of 3 students in our movement who were killed that day but the only one I knew personally.
She was the most spiritually mature freshman I have ever met and she loved blessing international students. In my experience, freshmen rarely jump right into international student ministry. She was unique, one of a kind, with a deep love for the Lord. I can still remember her prayers with a group of students 4 days before she was killed. She praised Jesus saying, "Lord, You are just so awesome! I just love You so much!"
I couldn't help but wonder, "Why, God? Why would you take such a wonderful servant of Yours who would have had such an amazing impact on so many lives?" I know that through her death, many have heard her testimony and have placed their faith in Christ but I still ask the same question. I don't have an answer. I don't believe I ever will on this side of Heaven. The only comfort I have is what I heard her parents share, that they know she is where she longed to be, in God's presence. If He gave her the option to come back, there's no way she would do it.
In the midst of these questions and doubts I was expected to lead students who were experiencing the same things. While dealing with the fact that the deadliest mass shooting happened on my campus in a building where I had a class as a student, it was my job to comfort others, to offer spiritual guidance. I had to stuff my feelings, my fears, my sorrow. It was the only way I knew to get by. One of the guys in my Bible study was in Norris and was saved by the teacher's glance down the hall and the students' quick thinking to barricade the door with a table just before the gunman came to their classroom and shot through the door in attempt to get in. What did I have to offer him as he processed this terrifying event and the survivor's guilt he felt? I mostly just listened. I hope I didn't talk too much. I honestly remember not knowing what to say or even what questions to ask. I recommended a counselor. (Today he's married, expecting his first child, and loves the Lord. I'm really proud of him.)
Looking back, I'm sure I tried to have super-spiritual answers to everything. That part is fuzzy in my memory. I think I passed along a John Piper article about the problem of evil. I felt helpless in a desperate situation to try to help others when I really needed help, myself.
The tears finally flowed on Thursday night at our weekly meeting. I couldn't stuff it down any more. It was essentially a memorial service with an open mic for anyone to share about students who were killed on Monday. Hearing students share about Lauren touched me deeply and I let it all out, there in a room full of people. I just didn't care what people thought. (Where did I get this idea that to be a man means you don't cry anyway? Thanks, media.)
The shootings began to open my eyes to the harsh reality that suffering is part of this life. It doesn't matter how much you pray, how much money you give, how often you share your faith, or what kind of job you have - suffering happens. In my head I knew this - of course, the Bible says that we'll suffer. After all, Matthew 5:45 says, "He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." But in my heart I believed that if I dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's then God would keep the rain away.
4 days after the shooting, my grandmother passed away. More sorrow. More rain. More questions, "Why now?" So instead of going to Lauren's funeral on Sunday, I attended my grandmother's. The contrast was, and still is, crazy to me. The loss of young lives cut short and the celebration of a life well lived. Still, the sadness piled up.
Within the next year our suffering would continue as we lost 2 children to miscarriages. This time the pain was closer, more personal than before. Once again, I thought, "Why, God? What have I done to deserve this?" I was mad at God and told Him so. But when He felt far off, He was right there. Over the months that turned to years, I'm seeing that God doesn't give us what we deserve. If He did, we wouldn't have all the blessings we experience. I deserve the punishment that Jesus endured for me on the cross. Writing this is a good reminder for me with Good Friday coming up in a couple days.
I'm seeing glimpses of how He has used these difficult things in my life to connect my head to deeper places within my heart. I do a lot of thinking but rarely know what I'm feeling. I'm also seeing how much of a control freak I am, working so hard to avoid any kind of pain. I'm beginning to learn that control is just an illusion, albeit one that I still fight for. Even more, He has shown me my propensity towards legalism and how I was treating Him like a divine Santa Clause who I expected to grant my every wish. But He desires more than that. He wants a relationship with me. God deserves to be more than a checklist. I want more than that too. I want it to be real, not just some formula to get what I want now and eternal bliss when I die. I want in on the divine mystery. If God really lives inside of me all the time, if He really did everything the Bible says, then the Christian life is about more than checking off boxes. It's deep, it's life changing, it's real. It's freedom.
Today I can thank God for the hard times but I still grieve for the 32 families and hundreds of students who were more deeply impacted by the shootings at Virginia Tech than I was. My heart breaks for them and I pray that they can somehow trust God without knowing why. I don't expect to ever know the answer. Maybe we'll find out when we see Him face to face. Maybe we won't. My desire for myself and for everyone who hurts is for the suffering to refine us all into the people who God has made us to be. May we all remove the masks of performance, let go of control, and trust God to love us, hold us, and lead us. May we all be free.
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