TJ Cunningham

I'm usually a little more distanced from violence in my blessed life. But yesterday, as I was sitting in sacrament meeting, there was a man being shot and killed across the street on the grounds of my kids High School.  It was a neighbor dispute about where they were parking their cars. Such a crazy stupid waste of life. I guess any murder is.

This guy played a season with the Seattle Seahawks in the 90s, has a family, and is (was) an assistant principal at one of Brandon's District's High Schools. I know that this happens a lot, everywhere. But it is just a lot for my brain to digest.  It's so rare for anger to boil up inside of me to the point that I do something rash. Rare enough that I can count them on one hand. I spanked a kid once I was babysitting out of frustration. I yelled really loud at one of my teens and slammed my door as I escaped the scene.  I was furious at Brandon a couple years ago due to his reply in a conversation we were having and filled several pages of my journal with scathing words. (which later sounded pathetic--I should probably burn those).

Not proud of any of those moments, but even in the midst of those feelings, there was never a moment when I could even a *twinge* imagine wishing them anything close to dead or even the seconds after not regreting that I had hurt someone's feelings.  I've never felt anger for an extended period of time where I could imagine deliberately taking a gun with me somewhere 'in case I might need it'.  I see some pretty bad situations at the hospital and at the free clinic I volunteer at. I've felt connections with people, despite them having done some pretty terrible things. I still can find their experiences and feelings, although not familiar, relatable. 

But not this. Not that kind of anger. That complete lack of perspective. I just don't get it.