What do you do when the unthinkable happens? Where do you go to find peace? And how do you explain it to a child?
On Jan. 6 — when throngs of President Trump's supporters cheered for him at a rally near the White House, and then violently attacked the U.S. Capitol building — my mind raced with questions.
My husband and I spent most of that day watching the news on TV. It reminded me of other horrific events I'd seen on TV in my lifetime — the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy, and the terrorist attack on Sept. 11, 2001.
I didn't realize how emotional I was feeling until my phone lit up with a FaceTime call from my 10-year-old grandson. Before answering, I took a moment to dry my eyes.
"Hey, Nana!" Randy said, "I have a surprise to show you!"
"Really?" I said. "What is it?"
He grinned ear-to-ear and I could clearly see the surprise.
"Woohoo!" I said. "No braces!"
"Yep!" he said, laughing. "I got them off today!"
I wish you could've seen him.
Suddenly, it all seemed too much — the joy in Randy's eyes, and the terror I had just been watching in the news.
"Are you OK, Nana?" Randy asked, studying my face on his computer screen.
"I'm fine, sweetheart, I just ..."
Stopping mid-sentence, I tried to think of what to say. How could I tell that sweet child something so wrong? He would learn it soon enough. I didn't want him to learn it from me. So I did what grandparents often do. I left it to his parents.
"I'm fine," I said, "really. I'm just happy you got all of that metal out of your mouth!"
"Me, too!" Randy said.
We talked a bit longer, then he said goodbye to go show off his teeth on more FaceTime calls.
And I went back to watching the news with my husband. We stayed glued to the screen all evening until finally, Congress officially affirmed Joe Biden's Electoral College victory.
In the closing prayer, Senate Chaplain Barry Black condemned the acts of violence and the "desecration" of the Capitol building.
"These tragedies," he said, "have reminded us that words matter and that the power of life and death is in the tongue."
He asked God to "Use us to bring healing and unity to our hurting and divided nation and world."
Finally, he prayed, "Bless and keep us. Drive far from us all wrong desires, incline our hearts to do your will and guide our feet on the path of peace. And God bless America. We pray in your sovereign name, amen."
I said amen, too. I can almost hear some of you saying it now.
Late that night, as I lay in bed thinking, I remembered a hymn I learned as a child. It's called "It Is Well With My Soul." The first verse goes like this:
"When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know, It is well, it is well, with my soul."
I often sang that hymn when I was growing up. It has helped me through a lot of hard times.
Years ago, I read the story behind it. The hymn was written in 1873, by Horatio Spafford, shortly after he lost four young daughters in a shipwreck at sea.
I can't imagine the agony of losing a child, let alone four children. But in Spafford's grief, he found words that have helped countless souls find peace.
I won't tell Randy what I saw on TV the day he called about his braces. His parents will do that when he's ready to hear it.
But I might give him the music for "It Is Well With My Soul" and tell him a bit about why I like it. He might want to learn to play it on his guitar. Who knows?
Maybe we will sing it together.
(Sharon Randall is the author of "The World and Then Some." She can be reached at P.O. Box 922, Carmel Valley CA 93924 or by email at [email protected].)