I am not sure how to process these things, none of us do. We listen to the news and feel the heaviness of it all. Moms, dads, sons and daughters one moment laughing and dancing and the next, lying on the ground, having breathed a last breath, or injured or terrified. We whisper prayers and try to understand.
And then, we go on. We make the bed and fry the eggs and drink our coffee in the safety and warmth of our homes. This seems so cavalier, so routine. Yet, what can we do? We must continue our lives.
The tragedy ripples out. The dead, the injured, the terrified, the culprit. There is no part that is not tragic. What kind of pain, what kind of illness, what kind of brokenness begins this? Perhaps the biggest tragedy is not knowing that answer.