My Part in the Dallas Shootings - Ashley Qualley

My morning started like any other. I was woken up, not by my alarm clock, but by my chubby-cheeked daughter, staring intently into my very-tired face. The kid loves mornings. And she loves breakfast so off to the kitchen I plodded. Coffee for me, chocolate milk for her. Cook up some turkey sausage, cut up the strawberries. Turn on the TV and wait for the decree on what show tickles her fancy. I could perform my morning duties in my sleep. Enter big brother and cue argument over current TV show. Exit me, stage-right, to the bathroom in an attempt to get ready for the day.

As my sleepy trek through the morning continued, I prepared to take the kids to meet a friend at the park. I was met with questions on the location of shoes, whiny voices demanding to watch "just one more show", and a host of sibling arguments loud enough for neighbors to hear. As I rounded the corner into the living room, finally ready to head to the park, I found myself smack in the middle of another dog-fight. This one involved angry screeches and flying hands.

"Shut UP! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

The words were out of my mouth before I fully realized what was happening. Self-control was a thing of the past and, to be honest, it felt good. I continued to bellow at two wide-eyed children as they made a break for their rooms. The wheels were off. Anger erupted from me with such force that the sounds of slamming cabinets and dishes being thrown into the sink filled the air.

Where had I gone so very wrong? How did I go from serving my children breakfast to screaming hateful words that were never allowed in our home? I spent the rest of the day mentally beating myself up, crying to my husband, and apologizing to my two children. Later that night, I sat on the couch, flipping through the TV channels. Breaking news of officers shot in Dallas filled the screen and I sat glued to the story for the next two hours. I was horrified. The world was on fire and it seemed anything was possible. Though yelling at my kids in our living room seemed a far cry from the bodies of fallen officers lining the streets, I couldn't escape the feeling of connection.

The following Sunday, I sat in our Sunday School class, discussing the tragedy in Dallas with friends. One particular women spoke up. A soft-spoken woman, who I could only wish to be more like, said something that cast the bright light of truth on that ugly day.

                   "I  am no different that the man who shot those police officers. Without Jesus, I am capable of anything. Really...I could do unspeakable things if I didn't cling to Jesus."

I will never forget those words. I am capable of anything. My sinner's heart slinks about, ready to pounce on opportunities that feel good in the moment. A mother unleashing anger on her children and a man taking lives at will...they are one in the same. Both offenses lead to death. God accepts no room for qualifying our sins. Death is where all the roads of sin intersect.

                 "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 6:23

For a church-going gal, I knew the threat of sin in my head. But this particular day of death and destruction and the realization that I hadn't clung to Jesus during a hard moment was now penetrating my heart. I need Jesus every minute of every day. I need His face in my mind, His words in my heart, and my hands constantly folded in prayer, begging Him to see me through this life. I am made in His image, but I will not free from the ability to sin until I reach Heaven. I am capable of anything. We all are. Our days must begin in communion with our Creator. We don't know what each day will hold, but we can be sure Christ is walking alongside us. His call to our life can echo far louder than the temptation of sin. He only asks that we take His capable hand.