School Victory

Last week, Thomas and Cora had a huge victory. 

A story had been circulating at their schools that a student had made a threat, many years ago, to shoot up the schools they were attending in March 2023. It just so happened that the student had named all three of the schools in which Micah, Henry, Thomas, and Cora spend their days. The incident had happened many years ago, and the student was dealt with at the time. Still, in an abundance of caution, the schools notified families and increased security. 

By Wednesday, not surprisingly, the middle school rumor mill had been at work. Students had been talking all week, and our kids were more concerned with each passing day. By the time Thomas climbed into the backseat of the car after school on Wednesday, he was sure he wouldn't survive the next day and begged to be allowed to stay home. Cora was equally anxious. 

We spent the evening outlining all the reasons why we didn't think they were in imminent danger: the threat was made years ago, and security measures were being taken. Mass shootings don't normally come with clear warnings, to give law enforcement a chance to be there ahead of time. Every door in the buildings was locked during the day, with cameras to see any guest before they were admitted through the office. We felt certain, if there was a real possibility of danger, the schools (working closely with the police department) would have closed. 

I even told them about the time in Spain when my school was evacuated for fear of a bombing by a national terrorist group, and how the threat never materialized. I told them how we all speculated that our city would be targeted next after 9/11 (just as every city did), and how the rumors and mass fear only made it feel more likely--even though we, of course, were never really a target and nothing happened.

But, of course, anxiety is never logical. It does, however, like to latch on to the smallest seed of truth in the fear and make it impossible to refute it. 

The kids reminded me over and over that there was a real threat. That their school had been named in the threat. That our whole family could be wiped out if he targeted all three schools. 

I know what it's like to stumble over the seed of truth. I lived it for years after our terrifying shopping experience. Not only could my greatest fear happen, it almost did happen--to me! It took me years to wrestle down the smallest truth in the much bigger lie. And I finally did it with two questions: 

Is it happening right now?

Is it likely to happen?

Because if it's not happening now, it's not mine to worry about. Jesus instructed us not to worry about tomorrow; we have more than enough to carry in each day. He promises to give us strength and walk with us through every storm we encounter, but he never gives us the strength for tomorrow today. We live our lives one moment at a time, because it's all we're capable of doing with his help. He will be with us in the hard things in the future. But he isn't in the "what-ifs," and neither should we be. They're not real. They're not ours. They're needless weight in an already-heavy load. 

So if it's not happening now, I can release it. After all, there's nothing there but worry. It's not an actual problem, or an actual experience. If it's not happening now, I can breathe deeply and let go of it. 

But what about the lingering fear that it could happen? It still presses in on the margins of my mind, while I tell myself I'm just bracing for the inevitable. But the "inevitable" is rarely actually the "likely." 

Yes, there are far more school shootings than there should ever be in our country. But we don't know anyone personally who has endured them. In this particular case, there was an awareness ahead of time of the threat and an opportunity to be prepared. There was almost no chance of the known individual getting into any of the buildings. 

Asking, "Is it likely to happen?" brings logic into the chaos of anxiety. It takes our mind from the frantic, panic-ridden areas of fear into the "sound mind," that the Bible describes. It anchors us in reality, even as our minds are busy fabricating the worst of every possible scenario. 

Over the next several hours, we drilled on those two questions. Every time the fear rose in them, we asked them, "Is it happening now? Is it likely to happen?" And slowly, with effort, they learned to talk themselves down. 

The next morning before school they were apprehensive, but ready. They gave us extra hugs, and we all left for the day with extra I love yous. I prayed that they would be safe, but more than that, I prayed that this experience would teach them something about anxiety and the truth that fear is not prophecy. 

That night, everyone came home, unscathed. We sat around the dinner table and discussed the day. The kids felt it had been "no big deal," nothing to worry about after all. But to us, it was a massive victory. We went out for ice cream as a family after supper to celebrate. As we laughed and listened to music at the shop, I breathed a prayer of thanks that we've made it through one more battle, and come out victorious. Fear doesn't hold our future. Someone else, someone much more capable, does.