When Trouble Comes

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My thoughts are very raw. My heart is saddened to tears about the events in the recent weeks, but the news about the Des Moines Police Officers slain is too much to bear. I would like to share my journal with you from this morning. I now that I’ve had time to make edits. I think it is important to share now so be forgiving of my writing and hear my words.

I remember the first time I snuck out to cruise around with some guys we had met earlier that day. They were cute and older. They seemed very cool as they pulled up to pile us in. I was “hanging out” at a friends house and wouldn’t be missed for a few hours. The guys laughed and teased us, in good nature. As we got further from home their tone became serious. The driver pulled over, and looked back at us, two girlfriends were squished like sardines in the back seat and I was up front in shotgun.

“If you hear gun shots get down on the floor.” He looked to me, “Recline your seat all the way back, and I will get you all out of there as fast as I can.”

The day before I had been at the rollerskating rink. I was in the 7th grade. At first we thought he was making fun, trying to scare us, but his tone convinced us otherwise. He told us about the first time he had been involved in the cross fire of a shooting. They didn’t connect the chaos and the pop of gunfire with the danger they were in. The car load of boys slowed to survey he seen as a bullet grazed their car. Later they showed us where it had left a scar in the metal. Suddenly, driving in cars seemed a whole lot less fun that I thought it was going to be. It was a lesson I learned the hard way. A lesson about the truth of Detroit. 

The news doesn’t mean much if it is not effecting you, it is the reality of a 7th grade mind as much as it is a part of human nature it’s self. I don’t think I was ever so glad for a night out to end. Though there was not an incident while we looped their favorite spots, cruising was off my list of desired activities for sure. I would stick to a summer of Rock-N-Bowl down at the local bowling alley and skate nights. I did not have to return to those street we passed. I didn’t live there. It wasn’t my city.

In high school, I moved to Des Moines, Iowa. I remember when my Michigan friends came to visit for a week in the summer, we took up cruising again. I wanted to show them my town. We scooped the loop like all respectable teens and pit stopped at Java Joe’s for open mic night. We played endless boards games while the place was packed out with teens and young adults. We headed out just as the Civic Center croud started filing in. It was late as we made a few final rounds. My friends were awed at the cleanliness of our downtown. A single newspaper skittered across the open space of the beautifully paved, four lane road. They asked me questions like where all of the homeless people were and crime stats. I told them about how a police officer had not been shot since the year we were born. I also told them about the great guys I knew that ran “Door of  Faith” ministries downtown and the efforts they made to drive around and pick up homeless folks who wanted a meal. I was proud of my city. So proud to stay and raise my family in safety.

I can not say those things to my friends today. Last week a beautiful boy was riding in the car with his family when a bullet from an unknown assailant destroyed his brain and eventually ended his life. He had visited the church of a minister I know. He said he was a good kid. His family will never be the same again. Then, three days ago my husband got a call from one of our purveyors. He wasn’t going to make it into town. A bullet had passed through the window of his car barley missing his passenger and wedging itself in the visor of his car. He would need to provide forensic evidence and witness testimony. He was shaking, both angry, and afraid. An inch difference and he would have had to make the hardest phone call of his life. He would have to tell his best friend that his son was dead, senselessly. 

I can not say the things I told my friends, because today two Des Moines Police Officers are dead. They were found shot, in separate incidents, in their cruisers. All evidence at the scene appears to point to the fact that they were ambushed. Murdered, with clear intent. For the first time in 39 years an officer gave his physical life for the city he loved. 

I mourn for my city. I mourn for the families of those who are involved, I can not imagine the physical pain they are enduring right now. I mourn the world I live in, that I can not escape the violence, death and hate. I wept bitterly, and only composed myself because I need to write this. I need to take the kids to class. I imagine the dead 14 years old boy’s father has to go to work today. I can too, but like him I will not be the same. This city will not feel the same. I pray we rise up and say “Not here.” 

Please, pray for us today. I know many of my friends live in worse places and rough neighborhoods. I know there are individuals the cannot escape the cycle of violence and poverty. Pray that we see with clear eyes the world around us and don’t forget to make the difference where we can.