CATCHING A THERMAL

KATE ROBERTSON

It was a beautiful day in late April, yet the drive from our small town in northern Colorado to a suburb of Denver, which I made quite often, was anything but ordinary.

I needed to know God's presence in tangible ways that afternoon as I drove to a church near Columbine High School just after the shootings there. My heart was heavy. I knew I couldn't let it stay that way. I had work to do and this work would require the certainty of God's presence and power.

Although the radio in my Jeep was silent, the voices of newscasters filled my mental airwaves. Words like gunmen, Columbine (which before that afternoon had only been the name of a delicate mountain flower my daughter and I admired each summer in high meadows), fallen, and victims, punctuated that silence like gunshots. I had to find a secure peace before I arrived at the Catholic church in Littleton where I would join other religious leaders, spiritual counselors, and social workers gathering to minister to the broken hearts and shattered families.

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