Friday, June 17, 2016
It's been a few days now since the shooting in Orlando. My heart broke as the news flashed the then "20" dead at a gay night club shooting. As the day progressed the total climbed until there were 49 dead and over 100 shot. Facebook, being the social media god that it is, allowed me to connect with many reactions that varied from complete horror to God's justice, and soon the "I'm heartbroken" was replaced with the battle of the guns between liberals and conservatives. I won't go into that battle because I still believe we should be mourning the loss of the 49 souls that were lost. Instead I will bring to light something I read on a friend's post. He was devastated
not only because of the lives lost, but because "Pulse" was his haven. It was the first place in his life that he could actually let his walls down and become who he had tried to hide away for his entire life. He was free and safe and welcomed and loved. Like the aliens that invaded and the chemo room, he was home. And in the blink of an eye, it was taken away.
At least he wasn't there, some say. It's not like he knew any of those people, some say. Maybe this is God's way of saying he shouldn't be gay, some say.
I'm sorry your home isn't safe anymore, I say.