i'm not going to get into the "guns don't kill people; people kill people" argument. for now, i have no investment in debating who should & should not [be allowed to] own guns.
all i want to do is expose the human psyche's worst enemy: itself.
we are afraid, rightly so, of massacres. we are afraid, naturally so [the right/wrong of which is another discussion entirely], of death. no matter which side of the argument we are on, we are afraid of instruments of violence. why else would we arm ourselves to the teeth, if we didn't fear someone breaking into our homes & threatening us (at the very least) with a weapon?
does anyone notice the pattern? we are afraid, we fear, we are threatened. we are fearful creatures. to an extent, this makes sense. in a world which, were we naked and without tools, we fleshy blobs would fall prey to the environment. none of us wants to be mauled, becoming the main course for the local mountain lions or black bears or whatever other predator that had, in this imagined situation, an evolutionary leg up on us. so our fear signals appropriate danger, & we act in a way that would promote survival, re: fight or flight.
there comes a point, however, when fear is no longer a lifesaving alert, but a paralyzing parasite that feeds on that life it used to preserve. in their profound text The Cry of the Soul,* dan allender & tremper longman appropriately use the term unrighteous fear, describing it as a "destructive anxiety." i cannot think of anything more apt to describe this most powerful way in which we dismantle ourselves & those around us.
personal example: a little over eight years ago, i endured a significant trauma that i never imagined could happen to me. i was always a "good girl," making sure to "do the right thing." i went to church on sundays, got high marks in grad school, & was well regarded as an instructor in the English department. & yet, there it was. i remember sitting in some stranger's bathroom at a picnic, trying to process what had happened earlier that day. surely, there was something i'd done or left unattended or provoked. there had to be something.
for the longest time afterward, i watched my back like no other & never let myself depend on anyone. after all, i had been betrayed in one of the worst ways possible; this trauma was executed by the hands of someone i'd trusted, a friend & colleague. i couldn't trust anyone anymore, much less men. they could hurt me, after all. if i did meet a guy i liked, i often found reasons why "it wouldn't work" & got out. because of this & being chased a few times, i eventually gave up running altogether. if i was going out, i always chose a seat with its back to the wall; i needed to see everything, "just in case." i started to notice all the little ways that friendships were letting me down, & i started keeping to myself, often blaming my schedule & all the work i had to do or how sick i was. & the latter was especially true--i began to get sick a lot, colds & various sinus issues. i'd never been so sick as i was in the past couple of years. i am a true psychosomatic.
i've learned since then that i'd deeply internalized the trauma & normalized the resulting fear. it's been a hard road to travel, & i've sweated & feared & cried, but i've worked so hard to start trusting again. i decided that i didn't want to be afraid anymore because fear had taken over & very nearly shut down my life. though the realization of my sad state was shattering, it was also intensely redemptive. i plan on running again, i want a second master's degree & a career in the arts, & i am okay with others sitting behind me.
most significant to me is my return to relationships. i make friends more easily, & though i still struggle with it, i no longer allow myself to sit in such a high seat of judgment--i'm learning to forgive. & key to this change was a chance meeting two summers ago. whether he/she knows it, i am forever grateful to this person & the subsequent corner i turned. after the initial "getting to know you" period, i decided that i really wanted to share time & self, but in order to do so, i had to let go of my long & tenaciously held, &, in a sense, rightfully rooted fear. i would have to annihilate my heretofore impregnable fortress & be vulnerable. the removal of the walls has been a terrifying process, but with each stone gone, more light enters in.
my point: while self-preservation is obviously valid, allowing fear to imprison is not. i thought that by sealing myself away, i was protecting myself & controlling any harm that could possibly come at me. how foolish. instead, fear continually built upon previous anxieties, amplified my shame, & fed on my soul.
fully aware of the irony, i ask you to trust me--i want to protect our little ones from any & every possible trauma, deadly or not. if anyone threatened my students or nieces or nephews or any child in general in my presence, you can be damn sure that the tigress would immediately show herself & defend to the last breath. but to place a firearm in my hand to do so, just in case? in a building that is supposed to revere & nurture life? it would only teach my pupils that i am afraid that any & every psychopath in the world is going to barge in & try to kill them. it would tell them that killers are everywhere & that no one is to be trusted. having seen the damage such fear can do to my own adult psyche, i can't imagine what such despair (because that's what it really is) could wreak on a child's sense of his or her future.
do we have a spidey-sense that tells us which person coming into the school office is on a killing spree? can we accurately pinpoint which person is dangerously unstable? are we, who are, by our very vocation, defining ourselves as dedicated to human life, prepared to show our children that we'll destroy life, if provoked just enough? & if it came down to it, are we able to aim the site between someone's eyes & say, "if you don't drop your weapon & back away, i'll blast your fucking face off?"
some may turn my questions back to my own statement that i'd defend children to my last breath. "well, if you're so hell-bent on saving the kids, a gun could stop an insane murderer. would you just let him/her go on a rampage, if you had the chance to stop him?" here's the only response** i know how to give: armed protection is necessary in some situations because humanity is fallen, but we cannot allow our own fears to imprison us with jaded visions of what may be. yes, peace is dangerous. yes, peace leaves us vulnerable to all kinds of twisted predation & tragedy. but we are called to hope & create a loving, positive environment for our children. if we are to be truly well & have thriving souls, we must strive for peace.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*allender & longman speak great truths about human anguish & divine engagement; a must read.
**i do not pretend to speak for the families affected by gun violence, nor do i pretend to know what the murder of a loved one can do to one's heart & mind. this piece is solely an exploration of my own experience & the impact it has on my opinion toward recent calls for teachers to carry guns in schools.
all i want to do is expose the human psyche's worst enemy: itself.
we are afraid, rightly so, of massacres. we are afraid, naturally so [the right/wrong of which is another discussion entirely], of death. no matter which side of the argument we are on, we are afraid of instruments of violence. why else would we arm ourselves to the teeth, if we didn't fear someone breaking into our homes & threatening us (at the very least) with a weapon?
does anyone notice the pattern? we are afraid, we fear, we are threatened. we are fearful creatures. to an extent, this makes sense. in a world which, were we naked and without tools, we fleshy blobs would fall prey to the environment. none of us wants to be mauled, becoming the main course for the local mountain lions or black bears or whatever other predator that had, in this imagined situation, an evolutionary leg up on us. so our fear signals appropriate danger, & we act in a way that would promote survival, re: fight or flight.
there comes a point, however, when fear is no longer a lifesaving alert, but a paralyzing parasite that feeds on that life it used to preserve. in their profound text The Cry of the Soul,* dan allender & tremper longman appropriately use the term unrighteous fear, describing it as a "destructive anxiety." i cannot think of anything more apt to describe this most powerful way in which we dismantle ourselves & those around us.
personal example: a little over eight years ago, i endured a significant trauma that i never imagined could happen to me. i was always a "good girl," making sure to "do the right thing." i went to church on sundays, got high marks in grad school, & was well regarded as an instructor in the English department. & yet, there it was. i remember sitting in some stranger's bathroom at a picnic, trying to process what had happened earlier that day. surely, there was something i'd done or left unattended or provoked. there had to be something.
for the longest time afterward, i watched my back like no other & never let myself depend on anyone. after all, i had been betrayed in one of the worst ways possible; this trauma was executed by the hands of someone i'd trusted, a friend & colleague. i couldn't trust anyone anymore, much less men. they could hurt me, after all. if i did meet a guy i liked, i often found reasons why "it wouldn't work" & got out. because of this & being chased a few times, i eventually gave up running altogether. if i was going out, i always chose a seat with its back to the wall; i needed to see everything, "just in case." i started to notice all the little ways that friendships were letting me down, & i started keeping to myself, often blaming my schedule & all the work i had to do or how sick i was. & the latter was especially true--i began to get sick a lot, colds & various sinus issues. i'd never been so sick as i was in the past couple of years. i am a true psychosomatic.
i've learned since then that i'd deeply internalized the trauma & normalized the resulting fear. it's been a hard road to travel, & i've sweated & feared & cried, but i've worked so hard to start trusting again. i decided that i didn't want to be afraid anymore because fear had taken over & very nearly shut down my life. though the realization of my sad state was shattering, it was also intensely redemptive. i plan on running again, i want a second master's degree & a career in the arts, & i am okay with others sitting behind me.
most significant to me is my return to relationships. i make friends more easily, & though i still struggle with it, i no longer allow myself to sit in such a high seat of judgment--i'm learning to forgive. & key to this change was a chance meeting two summers ago. whether he/she knows it, i am forever grateful to this person & the subsequent corner i turned. after the initial "getting to know you" period, i decided that i really wanted to share time & self, but in order to do so, i had to let go of my long & tenaciously held, &, in a sense, rightfully rooted fear. i would have to annihilate my heretofore impregnable fortress & be vulnerable. the removal of the walls has been a terrifying process, but with each stone gone, more light enters in.
my point: while self-preservation is obviously valid, allowing fear to imprison is not. i thought that by sealing myself away, i was protecting myself & controlling any harm that could possibly come at me. how foolish. instead, fear continually built upon previous anxieties, amplified my shame, & fed on my soul.
fully aware of the irony, i ask you to trust me--i want to protect our little ones from any & every possible trauma, deadly or not. if anyone threatened my students or nieces or nephews or any child in general in my presence, you can be damn sure that the tigress would immediately show herself & defend to the last breath. but to place a firearm in my hand to do so, just in case? in a building that is supposed to revere & nurture life? it would only teach my pupils that i am afraid that any & every psychopath in the world is going to barge in & try to kill them. it would tell them that killers are everywhere & that no one is to be trusted. having seen the damage such fear can do to my own adult psyche, i can't imagine what such despair (because that's what it really is) could wreak on a child's sense of his or her future.
do we have a spidey-sense that tells us which person coming into the school office is on a killing spree? can we accurately pinpoint which person is dangerously unstable? are we, who are, by our very vocation, defining ourselves as dedicated to human life, prepared to show our children that we'll destroy life, if provoked just enough? & if it came down to it, are we able to aim the site between someone's eyes & say, "if you don't drop your weapon & back away, i'll blast your fucking face off?"
some may turn my questions back to my own statement that i'd defend children to my last breath. "well, if you're so hell-bent on saving the kids, a gun could stop an insane murderer. would you just let him/her go on a rampage, if you had the chance to stop him?" here's the only response** i know how to give: armed protection is necessary in some situations because humanity is fallen, but we cannot allow our own fears to imprison us with jaded visions of what may be. yes, peace is dangerous. yes, peace leaves us vulnerable to all kinds of twisted predation & tragedy. but we are called to hope & create a loving, positive environment for our children. if we are to be truly well & have thriving souls, we must strive for peace.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*allender & longman speak great truths about human anguish & divine engagement; a must read.
**i do not pretend to speak for the families affected by gun violence, nor do i pretend to know what the murder of a loved one can do to one's heart & mind. this piece is solely an exploration of my own experience & the impact it has on my opinion toward recent calls for teachers to carry guns in schools.
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