Maryville

Early in the morning on December 31, 1994, I gave birth to twins after spending 3 1/2 months on bedrest. My babies were born at Anderson Hospital in Maryville, IL. We lived in Troy, another small town just a couple miles east of Maryville. At midnight, the moment when 1994 was gone and 1995 was born, I stood in my hospital room, grateful that my bedrest ordeal was over and wondering how I would manage to take care of two infants and a preschooler. My babies were in the nursery, and I was having a cup of tea as I gazed out the window at large fluffy snow flakes falling down. Past the parking lot and across the field, I saw the lights on at the First Baptist Church of Maryville, IL. I was comforted by the fact that there was a church with me as I began 1995.

As my children grew, we made plenty of trips to the hospital for surgeries and broken arms. Over time, we saw a new building grow. The Baptist Church was constructing a new facility, right there on the highway. Every time we went to the hospital, we saw the building's progress. Every time I drove to Walmart or Target, I drove past the church and past the hospital. The year before we moved away from the area, the church building was finished and we saw cars and people there, using the building to serve the people of the church.

This morning, in that church we watched grow, next door to the hospital where I brought two of my babies into this world, a man from Troy, the town where we'd lived for eight years, walked into the church. He lifted his gun and shot the pastor in the chest, right through the pastor's Bible. Two men from the congregation tackled the gunman while others screamed and prayed. The pastor, the gunman, and the two men from the congregation were taken to the hospital next door, which was not equipped to deal with most of the injuries. So even with a hospital so close, the men were airlifted to a hospital in St. Louis, where the pastor died of his wounds.

I've looked through the articles and watched the streaming video. So far, I have recognized no one involved. Yet somehow, I recognize them all. We most likely know people who go to that church. Our own church, with many people we love, is just down the road, on the same highway. It could have happened there, just as easily. It didn't, but it could have.

My heart is aching.