#CalLuStrong
I live a mile from Borderline and didn’t hear anything.
We usually sleep with our windows open, but for some reason, they stayed shut that Wednesday night. And I will never forget that feeling of waking up at 4:00 am to texts, Facebook notifications and missed calls on my phone.
I didn’t hear a thing.
I sat on my bed in disbelief with tears streaming down my face. Then I did the only thing I knew how to do. I left my bed, my husband and baby and drove as fast as I could to my second home: Cal Lutheran. I didn’t know if I could help, but I just knew I had to be there.
Walking into the Chapel was different this time. I met fellow staff and faculty with tears and questions. I met students with hugs and a shoulder to cry on. My phone continued to erupt with messages with an outpouring of concern and support. My Cal Lutheran family was circling the wagons, protecting their own, and reaching out en masse.
I felt grief and guilt, and outrage. Borderline was a safe haven for so many in this town; one of the only places that stayed open after 10:00 pm. I went many times in college, and it had been years since I last visited. But it was always, always there.
The biggest blow came when a student rushed into the narthex, sobbing. One of our own was gone - I held her and cried with her. The rest of the morning was a blur.
And then the air started to fill up with smoke. A different emergency this time. The fire burned at first near my husband’s work – he had the car with the baby seat in it. I asked him to leave work early and come pick us up. I just needed to be home. Later that night, our home started to feel less safe as another fire burned brightly in the distance. As the Woolsey Fire crept closer we made the decision to pack up and head to Newbury Park, to safer ground. Even later that night, we encountered a mandatory evacuation notice from the Hill Fire and caravanned with our whole family up to Camarillo. Throughout the night, my phone chimed with messages from near and far – family and friends checking in on us, making sure we were okay.
Despite my own personal situation, my heart and my head were still at Cal Lutheran. Even as we were glued to the TV watching the progress of the fires from a safe distance, I was helping coordinate emails to the families and alumni of Cal Lutheran. Notifying them that, although Thousand Oaks seemed to be burning down to the ground, the University still stood as a safe haven in the middle of it all.
I will forever be grateful and proud to be part of the Cal Lutheran community after November 2018. Our community’s love and light erupted in the days and weeks that followed, as many of us helped those in immediate need and in turn, felt loved and supported by our own circles. The Red Cross set up a shelter at Cal Lutheran and many staff, faculty, students, and families donated time and goods for those who lost homes to the fires. Campus Ministries, Counseling Services and Residence Life were working around the clock to help students, some who were directly affected by the Borderline shooting, some who were just scared. There was even an effort by staff to host students for dinner in their homes, to help ease feelings of homesickness or loneliness. The work that was done (and continues to be done) on this campus amazes me every single day.
The ripple of these tragedies will be felt for a long time. There is a lot of healing that needs to be done, and I can only hope that Cal Lutheran will continue to be a calm and consistent presence in the community for years to come. As for me…I will continue my personal healing by helping. Reaching out to a friend, community member or coworker. Random acts of kindness, and volunteering my time. I hope that I might make a small difference in someone’s healing journey, because it shouldn’t take two tragedies in one day for humanity’s good nature to shine brightly for everyone.
Carrie B.