"Then the tsunami struck. On October 2, 2006, my first-born child, (Charlie) whom I'd cradled in my arms, overseen his first steps, taught to love and serve God, watched grow into a gentle, hard-working man, a loving husband and father - this beloved son walked into an Amish schoolhouse with an arsenal of guns. Before it was over, five precious young girls were dead, five more were seriously injured, and my son had taken his own life.
"Suddenly I had a new identity: the mother of the Amish schoolhouse shooter. I cannot describe my devastation, the gut-wrenching pain, the nights of anguish. All those sweet young lives, families, our own family - changed forever because of a single senseless act of evil and rage committed by my own dear son.
"I would survive this tsunami. I found myself hanging on by my fingertips as the storm battered my body, inexorably loosening my feeble grip. What kind of mother was I that my son could do such a terrible thing? Where was the God who'd been there with me in all the other storms of my life? The God in whom I'd taught my children to place their trust? Why had He not stopped this? Was there a single ray of light, of hope, in this darkness?"
Terri's husband Chuck is immobilized by the same grief. Terri describes him on the day of the tragedy, shortly after the police have given them the news:
"When I finally returned home, Chuck was there with Charlie's dog. I had not seen my strong, protective ex-police-officer husband shed tears since his father passed away many years before. Now he could not even lift his head. He'd covered his face with a dish towel to control the flow of tears. His eyes were sunken and dull, his face red, his forehead raw from wiping it with the towel.
"Between deep, heart-rending sobs, he kept repeating: 'All those poor people. Those poor, poor children. Those poor mothers. Those poor fathers. Those poor grand-parents. My poor, poor son. My baby son. I wish I would have been a better dad."
The police questioned Terri and Chuck, over and over, asking them for reasons Charlie might have done this horrendous deed. They had no answers.
Nothing Charlie had done matched the young husband and father whom they knew.
Mentally Terri screamed angrily at God "How could you let this happen? How could you let evil win?" And a new anger surfaced inside her: terrible anger at Charlie, not only for his horrendous actions but for causing her husband, Charlie's dad, to blame himself and doubt himself as a parent and as a man.
How could a tender Charlie, who was so kind to his children, to his many dogs, commit such dark evil murders? How could she have borne and raised a child with such tendencies and never noticed such darkness in her son; had she missed any clues or signs in him?
Terri obsessively searched memories of her own life and Charlie's life for any signs that portended that this violent episode could happen. But, outside of Charlie's grief over the death of his first-born, born prematurely, and another child lost in a miscarriage, nothing overwhelmingly significant emerged. The couple now had three healthy children. The storm in Terri's soul continued to rage, because Charlie remained a dark, alien, and elusive mystery. But God has ways of calming His children in the midst of ongoing storms.
The day of the tragedy, Chuck remained slumped at the table, so shamed and embarrassed that he could not even take the phone calls of police officers whom he'd worked with who were calling to express support and encouragement.
Then an unexpected visitor arrived at their door, dressed in black and a wide-brimmed straw hat, - an Amish man, Henry Stoltzfoos, whose father had sold Terri's parents the land on which Terri's and Chuck's house now stood. Henry had every reason to hate Terri and Chuck. He had friends and relatives whose daughters had died in that schoolhouse. Yet he was also their neighbor; he and Chuck worked together to provide transportation for the Amish. Why had he come? What would he say or do? Terri says
"But Henry didn't look angry as we welcomed him into the house. Instead, compassion radiated from his face. Walking straight over to Chuck, who still sat slumped at the breakfast bar, he put one hand on his shoulder. The first words I heard him speak took my breath away: 'Roberts, we love you. This was not your doing. You must not blame yourself.'"
Henry Stoltzfoos was making his own faith journey, overwhelmed by the storm of tragedy that had overwhelmed his Amish community, confused and uncertain about how to respond to his neighbors who were also his friends. Yet, even as he struggled, God was reaching out to him. Henry says:
"I'm a board member of the three Amish schools in the area. We decided as a board to have a talk with our teachers that same afternoon to calm them down and show our support. Before we went over there, I thought I should go down to see Terri and Roberts (my nickname for Chuck.) But when I saw how many media trucks were outside, I thought maybe this wasn't such a good time. We met with the teachers. When the driver left me off at my house, I again started across the road to the Roberts' house. But I felt very weak, like I wasn't going to be able to go through with it. Changing my mind, I headed toward my own driveway instead.
"I started up the quarter-mile driveway and the good Lord was telling me, 'You need to go talk to Roberts.' So I turned around. I felt weak and turned away from Roberts' house. When I turned away, I would get weaker yet. I went toward Roberts' house. That gave me more strength. When I turned towards Roberts' I felt weak, but not as weak as when retreating back up my long lane."
Henry wondered what he was doing there, but he entered the house, and, transfixed by his friend's grief, rubbed Chuck's back for over an hour as he cried, listening and offering words of comfort; Henry pictured how he would feel if one of his sons had done this. Chuck felt they should move away from the Amish community; Henry told them that there was no reason for them to move. The Amish did not hold Chuck or any of the Roberts family responsible for Charlie's actions. Gradually his friend straightened up and hope sparkled in his eyes. Healing was beginning to happen.
Henry recounts:
"Up until this point, I had felt completely helpless. Now my strength came back to me. It was the Lord God who brought hope to Roberts, not me. The good Lord sent me there and was talking through me. I think this was the beginning of forgiveness."
.The Amish community continued to visit both Terri and Chuck as well as Charlie's widow Marie and her family, offering support and forgiveness. Even the families of the five little girls who died and the five who were gravely wounded offered their forgiveness. The Amish shared with Terri and Chuck that they weren't making one-time statements of forgiveness either. Forgiveness was a choice, an attitude, that they struggled to embrace and maintain one day, even one minute, at a time. Because of their attitudes, Terri and Chuck also chose to forgive Charlie. But forgiveness was not only words and an attitude for their Amish friends. When the Amish families received financial recompense for their daughters' deaths and injuries, they insisted on sharing their funds with Charlie's young widow Marie and her children.
Ten years later, Terri, Chuck, and their family have regained a new wholeness, and Terri herself travels all over with her powerful message of the healing power of forgiveness and reliance on a trustworthy God. She reflects:
"Even as I found myself swept away by this rogue tsunami wave, in the darkest depths of my pain, I felt loving arms enfold me. And in surrendering to that sweet embrace, I was reminded that survival is not the only word that starts with an s. It is in surrender that I found balm for my pain. Surrender to the One who had been with me through every storm and who had not abandoned me in this one.
"We live in a society that glorifies survival. That teaches us to seek revenge when wronged, to come out on top. I had braced myself for the inevitable hate and vengeance. Instead i encountered love beyond understanding. Forgiveness from the very Amish families whose daughters my son had swept from their arms. And I discovered by their example that submission and surrender, love and forgiveness are not weaknesses, but the strength our world so desperately needs....Together with them (the Amish), I've found release from bitterness, anger, and fear in mutual forgiveness and love."
The Israelites knew Who God is:
"Yahweh, Yahweh, a God of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in kindness, and abounding in faithfulness. For the thousandth generation, Yahweh maintains His kindness, forgiving all our faults, transgressions, and sins." (Exodus 34: 6-7.)
The Amish told Terri and Chuck over and over that they forgave so that they would be forgiven. They understood the holistic wheel of healing in which God forgives us, we forgive others, and God forgives us, and we forgive others....a wheel that revolves over and over again in our lives.
God works His miracles of grace within us so that we receive His power to heal and forgive others, even when we struggle in the darkness of storms and events so terrible that they are incomprehensible. And God's grace heals us. No matter what storm we experience, God reaches out His loving arms so that we can surrender to Him and trust in His merciful love. He also reaches out to us in the loving, merciful arms and words of His people who come to visit us, sometimes someone different from us, dressed in black and wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat. God may not calm our storms for a long, long while. But He will always, always calm His child.