Two kinds of grief....

I've been trying to write this post for several days now. The words have been swimming in my head, but I haven't been able to communicate them clearly.


The death of Pastor Fred Winters last Sunday was such a shock. It sent a wave of emotion through our community. It hit the national news within hours and has continued on the local news all week. His church, First Baptist of Maryville, has shown incredible strength through this ordeal. I am amazed. Pastor Fred was no doubt a man of God. A man of integrity. A man who loved life and loved people. A man who wanted to see people come to know Christ. Those who have shared have testified of these things. We've listened all week. I was acquainted with Pastor Fred; many were. We are grieving.


On Tuesday, I realized I was angry. It surprised me. But there it was. I had started hearing things about the attacker....mentally ill is what they were saying. I think that is what made me angry. Of course he was mentally ill. How could he not be? Not to mention, if he was so "sick" why did he have access to guns? Don't get me wrong. I know that God is in control. I know that God could have stopped the attack. I know that God makes good out of what we see as evil. And I know that His ways are not our ways. But as sure as my head knows all this, my heart was struggling with the "why's."


God IS good. He knows when we are hurting.


Tuesday night, as I spoke with a friend, she turned the conversation to the murder. She is friends with the mother of the attacker. She was telling me how badly the mother is hurting. As she continued, I found the anger growing inside me. I told her that while I heard what she was saying, I wasn't in a place to really listen. Instead of saying, "Okay, I understand," her reply was, "Let me tell you some things that may help you with mercy and grace."


So I listened.


As she talked, she told me of a teenager named Terry who ten years ago suddenly became ill. He got lost driving to school one day and didn't know who he was. His teachers suspected drug usage, but he tested clean. He began psychological evaluations and was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He began intense drug therapy; but nothing helped....He slipped into a coma. At the hospital, one doctor saw something familiar in the young man's case and suggested he be tested for Lyme Disease. He was and tested positive; treatment began immediately. The next day, he awoke from the coma. But the damage to his brain was severe with lesions throughout. He would never recover. He would never live a normal life.


My friend went on to tell me that when she first met Terry she thought he had autism. She said he paced continually back and forth and he grunted to himself as if in his own world. It wasn't until later that she learned about the Lyme Disease. He is a tormented man.


Then she began telling me told me about the young man's mother. One day she was the mother of a normal, happy teenager; the next day her life was turned upside down. She has fought for 10 years to get treatments for her son in hopes of having him "normal" again. She has spent months in Florida with him getting specialized treatments which cost their family dearly. She had to sell the family business to pay for these treatments. She is a mom who would give her life for her son. And yet she finds herself in this shameful position---the mother of a murderer.



And my heart began to break for this mother, and my anger began to dissipate. God knew I needed that conversation that night.



On Thursday I spoke with another friend who attends First Baptist of Maryville. Pastor Fred was very dear to her family. As we spoke, she talked about two kinds of grief. She reminded me that what we are experiencing is "clean grief." However, the family of the gunman are experiencing a different grief altogether--it is a messy, guilt-laden, devastating, and confused grief.



We must pray for them.