Pray for SPU

Someone opened fire on my campus.  

I grieve.

For the death of Paul Lee.

That my people have to face this tragedy.

I am angry.

At the shooter who killed Paul Lee and injured Sarah Williams and Thomas Fowler. 

At my society that produced this person.

I am grateful.

For John Meis, who took decisive action.

For the strength of my community as we support each other.

I chose to come to SPU after discovering my Grandma had a terminal illness.  I hoped that when tragedy struck I would be in a loving community.

Now, we collectively walk through the valley of the shadow of death. The truth of who we are is obvious.  In every building, on every lawn I see people being Christ to each other and I am proud to be here.


I pray.

For everyone grieving the loss of Paul Lee.

For the full healing of Sarah Williams and Thomas Fowler.

For the redemption of Otto Miller Hall.

For wisdom for the leaders who make the hard decisions as we move forward.

For grace and justice for the shooter and his family.  

For all unspoken prayers only my heart can say.

For grief to happen.

For peace to be felt.

For us all to find forgiveness.

I stand.

On the thresholds of my campus and declare that evil will not have the final word here.

In confidence that our God reigns.



Click here to support the victims and their families through SPU's "Rise Above" fund.

Safety Net

A few weeks back I went to a movie with somebody dear to me.  Western Washington still clung to winter, and and night fell early even though it was spring break.  Out of the darkness a woman approached:

"Do you have any money to spare? I'm hungry."

I turned away and told her no.

Stepping into the building, my purse felt like lead.

I had $12 cash in there.

I wish I could say that I went back outside and handed her the money, but I didn't.  We were running late, I didn't want to get left without a ticket, and I didn't want to explain myself to my companion.

Essentially, I placed more value on the first few minutes of previews than the woman.

I took my seat and watched my movie, feeling horribly guilty.

Later, mediocre movie over, settled at home, I expressed my guilty conscience.

"I can't believe I didn't give her any money.  I still feel terrible about it."

"She probably would have spent it on drugs or alcohol."

"But you don't know that.  She might have had a family to feed.  She might not have eaten today."

"Why risk it?"

I thought for a minute.  "Because if I was ever homeless, I'd want someone to give me the benefit of a doubt."

"But your middle class background says you'll never be homeless," the one who is dear to me responded, then she changed the subject.

I don't have the research handy to tell you the details on why this is true.  But it is unlikely I will ever be homeless.  The middle class is raised with the speaking habits, manners, and values held in high esteem by the privileged people in America.  Our upbringing provides a comfortable safety net of potential employers and established family connections to halt a descent into poverty.  We are privileged to be less likely to end up homeless than the people from lower classes.

Exasperated, the voice in my head retorted: Just because I was lucky enough to be born in a middle class family with white parents and white grandparents who have all been able to get good jobs for most of my life - does that mean I shouldn't care?

No, it doesn't.  Not at all.

God gave me certain privileges, and I strive to be conscious of how I use them.