Friday, July 8, 2016


On my way back to the afternoon session of my junior year in high school the rock and roll music from KLIF was interrupted.  It was 1963.  The President of the U.S. was in a motorcade in downtown Dallas and shots had been fired.  I arrived at the small town high school just minutes later.  The afternoon classes would not even attempt to be held.  The news finally was announced that the President was dead.  Tears rolled down my cheeks as well as many other students and teachers.  I had driven on that street.  Classmates recalled at our 50th reunion last fall that they had picked up books for the school from the Book Depository just days before the shooting.  It was a pivotal moment for many of our generation, one we never forgot.  Like our parents and the bombing of Hawaii.  Or 9/11.

Last evening, 7-7-2016, I was just messing on the computer as there was nothing on TV.  All the blogs were read and I wandered over to facebook.  'WTH is happening in Dallas?' was on one of the friend's posts.  The answers that followed sent a chill through me.  Dallas again with bloodstains on the streets and spread across her name.  Again, a single shooter was dealing a demented and deadly message.  No one is safe anywhere, anytime.  Hate and frustration are the ruling forces for that person.

How to respond?  How to change the direction of all this insanity?  Love must win and how can I be a part of that winning?  Do I take every gun we own and grind them into plows?  Even the one from Great Grandpa Jones?  What am I willing to sacrifice in order to make a difference?  These are but a few of the questions that are still bumping around inside my head . . . and heart . . . and soul.

On Friday morning we planned to restock our empty pantry shelves after having breakfast at a nearby cafe.  The cafe is always filled with the diverse group of folks that inhabit the area where we live.  I wanted to get up and hug every person in the room and just say we can get through this if we band together in love and appreciation of each other.  I was chicken, not wanting to embarrass my husband or others in the room.  I just sat with tears welling in my eyes, a crack in my voice as I talked to Hubby.

From the cafe we went to a small everything is a dollar type store.  Again, I was feeling the urge to hug persons of color in particular.  As we stood at the checkout watching the young man check our purchases through, a woman joined us in line.  I blurted out how I was so saddened by the events in Dallas.  She concurred.  Then I said the only thing that can get us through this is love.  She agreed and we spoke of all the tragic deaths.  'Would she mind if I shared a hug?' fell out of my mouth.  She opened her arms, we hugged and both teared up.  Then as we were walking away her husband was standing near the door. He was smiling from ear to ear.  Hubby did the knuckle bump with the lady's husband.  Then the lady's husband started to knuckle bump my hand.  No, it has to be a hug to pass the love along.

On the way to the car I told Hubby he might have to look out today cause it might happen again.  His response?  "After 50 years together I've learned not to be surprised by anything you do."  I only talked about the need for love to the next checkout person at the next store.  No hugs.  She was young and oblivious to the needs of this broken world . . . . . .

((( ))) (((( ))))   L O V E   M U S T   O V E R C O M E   T H E   H A T E   (((( ))))  ((( )))  
pass the love and hugs along today