I was staying in Orlando the night of the Pulse shootings. I woke up to the headlines on the TV at 2am. They had put out an emergency call for blood, all types, but especially B-. It is a very rare type, two percent of the population at best. But by a blessed coincidence, B- is also my sister-in-law Lisa’s type. So, I called her, woke her up, and dragged her down to the hospital. She has bad arteries and it is always an ordeal for her to donate blood. But she smiled and answered the call. The line was several blocks or so long. But as soon as they learned she was B-, they rushed us right in. They even wanted my common O+ as well.
In retrospect, it seems strange. But the blood donations have always made me feel like we were a part of it. The emotions and feelings have stayed with me, even to this day.
The next week, I was in working in Florence, SC. That Wednesday night, the local United Methodist Church had a memorial service for the victims. I went, but I didn’t have proper shoes. (I was there working and only had work shoes.) I walked up and apologized to the usher for my sandals. He commented, “Jesus wore sandals, come on in.” After the service, they lit 50 candles at the altar in honor of the 49 victims. Why 50? Welcome to the United Methodist Church. They lit a candle for the shooter. “It is not our place to judge, it is God’s place…”
