They say not to judge a book by its cover.
But I'm here to tell you that if you can't be bothered to pretty up the front of your book, then I probably can't be bothered to pick it up. My cover art expectations are high. Texture adds to my joy.
But when it comes to baby shower venue, apparently I can be tempted to open an ugly cover and see what's inside. Point of evidence: City Corner 2. This little spot on Plantation Road in Roanoke appears to be a dive on the outside. A place I'd never notice, much less consider ordering a meal from. But when Abbie's pregnant and we Citylight Church ladies need to throw a shower, Misty's neighborhood Thai restaurant was the spot.
Driving by, you barely notice City Corner 2. Its sign is too small. The building looks like a nondescript former convenience store. But its food is so good that our pastor mentioned it in his sermon last week. Well. That says something.
I was the first to arrive. Stepping into the dining room, I spotted our reserved table and chose a seat. I studied the menu, glanced around, trying not to catch anybody's eye. (Because, introverts just don't do that.) The room was small, but almost every other table was taken.
As friends began to arrive, I settled in. Naturally, our talk turned to schools and guns and this world and our kids. We shared deeply and honestly. We comforted and encouraged. We loved one another. No sin was too big. No chuckle too light.
It was a perfect evening in an imperfect world.
And isn't that what God wants for us? To lean on each other and nurture our relationships in this messy life? After a week of feeling like I just wanted to crawl inside a box and live quietly in the dark, this evening was the spark of light that I needed. Thank you, Lord, for these ladies, for their love for you and your people. Thank you for dives and cashew chicken and ugly covers that hide beauty and grace and mercy inside.
Since Wednesday:
I have seriously begun to consider what I might grab to use as a weapon if this happened at my elementary school.
And let's just pause to consider that for a minute. Because we all know that it could happen.
Aside from locking the door and shielding my students, I honestly don't know how I'd react. (Yeah, I have a black belt in taekwondo, but I'm confident I wouldn't find any comfort in my personal skill level there.)
What I do know is that this empty talk of arming teachers doesn't settle well with me. I don't want a gun.
What do I want?
How about more teachers who can form relationships in classrooms with fewer students?
How about more guidance counselors who can be there for students when they need help - any time and all the time?
How about more outside support for the families of students who are struggling?
For that matter, how about more pencils and glue sticks and books?
What else do I want?
I just want to be a teacher who is free to love her students, love her content, and love watching her kids thrive in their learning.
A gun won't give me that.
Instead, a gun would turn me into an armed guard. A security guard. And if my calling in life was to do that, then I'm sure I'd want to be the best security guard I could be.
But.
That's not my calling. I'm a teacher. And the thought of reading aloud Maniac Magee or Wonder or The One and Only Ivan to my 10-year-olds with a gun at my hip.... Well, I just can't.
Instead, I want to open the door to room #230, turn on the Christmas lights and our favorite Pandora stations, and teach my heart out. I want to put books into the hands of my students that will take them away from this world for a little bit. Books that will give them inspiration to return to this broken world and solve the problems that plague us.
If I've learned anything since this latest school shooting, it's that our kids can, indeed, solve problems. I hear it in the voices of the survivors of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. It's in their calls to action that I find more comfort right now than I do in the adults who could - and should - have, at the very least, tried to solve this years ago.
