I’ve been struggling the last few days. Since Thursday night, to be clear. I was sitting on the couch, idly skimming twitter, when the first reports of the shooting began rolling in. For the next three hours, I couldn’t do much but continually refresh the feed for the #dallasshooting hashtag. I was transfixed. Horrified.

I live in Fort Worth. I work in Dallas. I have an in-law who is a Dallas Police Officer. This was frighteningly close to home. The fear was palpable, even from 30 miles away.

Mentally I ran through a whole range of thoughts. Fears about taking my children out of the house ever again. Wondering how in the world someone could reach a place, mentally, where shooting police officers seemed like the right choice. Hoping my in-law was safe. Thinking the whole thing was frighteningly well executed – someone knew what they were doing.

And of course, the good and bad on twitter and Facebook. The vilification and clearing of Mark Hughes. Reprehensible people praising the shooter. Outpourings of love and support for the DPD, DART Officers, and the city of Dallas. Celebrities and Politicians ringing in token statements of prayer and support.

I didn’t sleep particularly well on Thursday night – or Friday morning, when I finally went to bed.

When I woke up on Friday, I was in quite a funk. I just kept asking myself how I could go about my daily life as if nothing was wrong in the world. I’d check twitter, and see the normally cheery traffic, ads, and humor, interspersed with updates about the shooting and the aftermath. I couldn’t process the disconnect.

Maria was really worried about me, I’m normally a positive mood kinda guy, and I was low. I was numb. I hated the dichotomy in my own heart of wanting to go through the day as usual, and thinking I should be feeling grief and sadness.

The thought that kept echoing in my brain was how I, as someone who believes their purpose is to teach how to find joy, can hope to teach anyone to find joy in a world such as this.

I did finally find an answer, by the way.

Playing with my kids, who had no idea what had happened, I was reminded that this whole world is a study in people trying to find joy amidst the pain and suffering. I’d have no purpose, if there was no suffering. Sure, this horrific attack was really close to home for me personally, but for much of the country, and certainly the world, this attack was terrible in the intellectual sense only. Much like 9/11, which I still remember vividly, while shocking and frightening, had no personal impact to me. I didn’t know anyone killed in the twin towers or Pentagon.

Yes, the attack was tragic, horrific, and reprehensible. Yes, good men and women were injured and killed, by a coward. Yes, their families are forever wounded. But, those men and women were doing something they believed in, something bigger than themselves – protecting and defending the citizens. Those who paid the ultimate price did so so that citizens *could* go home and back to their daily lives.

My mission has not changed, to help men find joy in their daily lives. Whether their lives have been relatively easy and painless, or marked and stained by incredible pain and suffering, every man is still capable of experiencing joy. And thus, no matter how close to home a tragedy hits, my call is the same.