Today, as I stared at the words on my phone declaring yet another school shooting—with innocent lives lost and others forever changed—my heart sank. I didn’t go right to praying.
I didn’t go right to “sending good thoughts.” I went straight to heartache and heartbreak.
When I shared the news with Erica, the tears started for her. Out loud I said something that should never have to be true: “You know, the summer is good for a lot of reasons—but we don’t hear of another school shooting over the summer either.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the weight of them. Erica gasped. “How utterly tragic is that?” she said.
With our boys going back to school next week, of course our hearts went to the what-ifs. What if it happened there? What if their day began with laughter and ended with their last breath?
When will it stop?
I’m no stranger to trauma. I’ve walked through more than my share, and I’ve walked with others who’ve faced even more. Some of my scars came from my own choices, but most of the deepest wounds in my life—and in the lives of those I love—came from the choices of others.
When will it stop?
Every day I see the ripple effects of trauma.
Every day I ask the questions: Why is this okay? Why didn’t God stop it? Why does it keep happening?
When will it all stop?
I wish I had answers. I don’t.
And I know for some, my faith in God seems like nonsense. How could I possibly trust in a God who claims to be all-powerful yet doesn’t stop the bullets? I hear that question.
I’ve asked it too.
But here’s the truth: trusting Him doesn’t erase the trauma. Not for me, not for anyone. Tragedy happens to the faithful and the doubting, the kind and the cruel, the ones who pray and the ones who don’t.
Jesus himself once said, “The sun rises on the evil and the good, and the rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous.” In other words—life comes for us all, in ways we can’t explain or control.
So while I don’t have a satisfying answer for why this keeps happening, I hold onto this: I have a God who weeps with those who weep. A God who mourns with the brokenhearted. A God whose sadness matches—and even exceeds—my own when tragedy strikes.
I know some will still ask: If your God can stop this and doesn’t, isn’t He cruel?
I hear you. I wrestle with that too.
But I also know Him. I know the ways He’s carried me through pain I didn’t think I’d survive. I’ve felt His comfort. I’ve experienced His mercy. I’ve seen His fingerprints of grace in lives shattered by grief.
So no, I don’t have an answer to the question, “When will it stop?” But I do have a place to take my tears, my anger, and my confusion.
And that changes everything.
Here’s where I’ve landed: I don’t choose between crying out in anger or crying out in trust. I do both. I scream at God with my questions, and then I collapse on His shoulder. I grieve what should never be, and I cling to what I know will one day be.
Because this I believe: one day, all of it—the pain, the trauma, the violence, the tears—will stop. One day every broken heart will be healed. One day there will be no more shootings, no more headlines, no more parents sending kids to school wondering if it’s their last goodbye.
Until then, I live in the tension. I let the tears fall. I take the next small step forward. And I do so trusting that the same God who carries me today will one day bring an end to all of this.
When will it stop? I don’t know.But I do know this: I will not walk through the heartbreak alone.