At 1:26 am a piercing notification came from the campus alert system, waking me from a light sleep while I was on call at the hospital. An active shooter. The computer screen in my call room glowed brightly. I was disoriented. I looked out the window at the hospital entrance. I saw nothing. I heard nothing unusual. I immediately texted my residents. “Where are you?” When they replied that they were safe in the ICU work room and call rooms, I replied, “Don’t move about the hospital except for patient care emergencies.” At liberty to use expletives among friends, I added, “What the fuck is happening?”

Within a few minutes, we all realized the active shooter was not in the building but across the street, in an alley next to the bar some of us visit to blow off some steam from time to time. And a few minutes after that, we learned that the victim of the shooting would not make it to become our patient.

That night was like any other night, until it wasn’t. And then it jolted us into a mode we had heard of, but not lived. Run. Hide. Fight. We did the best we could in the moment, but honestly, I didn’t really know what to do. My ‘mom’ instincts immediately went to my residents…to ensure their safety. But beyond that, I didn’t know if I should hide in the call room or run to the ICU to make sure no shooter was taking aim at my patients. In that moment, I thought, “I have heard of people having to live through things like this. How do they know what to do? Am I doing the right thing?”

That was just one night. But right now, in our world, we are living an active shooter situation in slow motion every day. There are threats across the street and all around the world. The difference is, the gun may not be physically pointed at me or my friends or family, but I feel responsible nonetheless. And I don’t know what to do.

More than 64,000 children have been killed in Gaza since 2023.

Less than 10% of people taken into ICE custody have violent convictions.

Firearm injuries are the number one cause of death for US children.

The US government has deported 25,000 people to third countries they have never been to and arguably have no way to get out of.

A growing list of women have died trying to get access to reproductive healthcare that has been deemed illegal in their home state.

More than 25 million Americans have no health insurance and routinely forgo necessary medical care.

What the fuck is happening?

Yet, here I am. Sitting in my cozy living room with a glass of clean, ice-cold water in my hand, typing away on my fancy name-brand laptop, listening to a curated playlist on the same-brand phone with my same-brand earbuds. My family is beginning to discuss travel plans for the holidays. My bills are paid. My kids are safe. My retirement is well funded. But I feel sick about the world I see around me. And I don’t really know what to do.

I volunteer with my local Democratic Party chapter, writing postcards, making calls, and attending rallies. I made a decent donation to our favorite candidate (not my life savings, but enough to cover a Michelin-star dinner); I share my viewpoint on social media, and for the 15 voices who hear me on here, thanks for listening, but it’s hardly a megaphone; I have told my colleagues and residents that if ICE ever comes between me and a patient, they will have to pass the plate for bail money, but to date, that scenario has not come to fruition (thank God). We donate a little more than 10% of our annual income (I still see you, Evangelical church) to charities that we truly believe in, but that feels like hardly enough. Giving money is easy when I have plenty to care for my family and enough left over to have fun.

What I am feeling is the constant Run-Hide-Fight of the world I see around me every day, and feeling helpless to make the difference that I think is required. My friends in Minneapolis were (are) nothing less than inspirational in the ways they responded to the crisis that landed in their backyard. But as my husband reminded me today, “If we wait until it comes to our front door, we have waited too long.”

While Evangelicals quaintly talk about praying away the ‘Spiritual warfare‘ around them, I feel compelled to act in response to the actual, real-life suffering and death we are all witnessing. This is the difference between orthodoxy and orthopraxy. Believing right versus doing right. What I am doing, or not doing, feels far, far short of what is necessary to meet this moment. I don’t know what to do.

But what I do know is that staying comfortable will never be enough. Being prepared to take risks, to give more, to sacrifice more, will always be required. Friends, I am challenging all of us to Run-Hide-Fight. Run towards the places we can serve. Hide those who need protection. Fight for those who cannot. Alone, we may not know what to do, but together, we most definitely know.

Disclaimer: My viewpoints are not necessarily reflective of my employer, or any local, regional or national organization that I belong to. As a matter of fact, I pretty much just speak for myself. Please keep that in mind.