Church was beginning, the band hit their first beat, and the congregation stood up to sing an upbeat song about God. It was two days ago, Sunday, a typical weekend service. I was feeling anything but upbeat.
Earlier that morning, I’d read the first news reports about the victims of last week’s shooting in Aurora, just an hour north of here. While every life counts, I was particularly affected by the mom in critical condition in the ICU who kept asking if her six-year-old daughter was all right. Of course, if you’ve seen the news at all, you know she wasn’t all right. She was dead. And no one could bring themselves to tell the mom.
I could relate too well. I have two daughters and now a granddaughter. Having something horrible happen to them is my worst nightmare.
Compost 