We ended up having quite the scary Fourth of July last year. My faith was challenged but was also reignited in ways I couldn't imagine were it not for what happened that day. I need to back up to give you the whole story.  

Our children had been asking to do a "real road trip" for quite some time and we were trying to figure out when and where to go. Since I had recently begun working at the same school with our children, we decided summer would be the best time. After doing some research and realizing how close we would be to a relative I had yet to meet, we decided on our destination.  

The majority of the trip was so much fun. We explored the city, took a double-decker bus tour, and even attended Sunday Mass at a beautiful basilica. We were also fortunate to visit the shrine of a saint. Each of my children lit a candle for the Holy Souls in Purgatory and I even purchased a new rosary for each of them before we left, even though we've yet to pray a Rosary together. I'm grateful for that time we shared that Sunday at Mass, because two days later, we relied on faith to help get us through a scary situation. 

On the last day of the trip, I was met with an amount of fear and anxiety I had yet to experience since becoming a mother. The kind that paralyzes you before you can ever name it. The kind that, as a mother, you go into auto-pilot without realizing it because you have to protect your children.  

Looking back, I don't know how I did it.  

I heard the words, "EVERYONE GET DOWN." 

My daughter and youngest son sat down immediately with me, not exactly knowing what was happening.  

And then I heard my husband say, "Get up, Jen."  

I got up with my oldest and youngest to make my way closer to my husband, who was with our middle child. 

"What's going on? Mommy, what's going on?" My daughter asked, on the verge of tears.  

I replied, "I don't know, sweetheart."  

We began walking swiftly, holding tightly to our children's hands as we maneuvered our way through the crowd that now consisted of both firework enthusiasts and those fleeing because they recognized the sound of gunshots. 

 "Just stay calm, just stay calm," I repeated to myself.   

"Mommy, we need to pray. We need Jesus. We need to pray," my middle child sobbed.   

"That's a good idea, baby. Let's pray the Our Father," I said. We prayed together. At that point, all three were crying, truly terrified about what was happening, especially because we still didn't know what was going on at this point other than knowing we needed to get to our van as quickly and safely as possible.  

Sensing the comfort praying brought, I instructed them, "OK, let's pray a Hail Mary." We prayed a Hail Mary.  

"Mom, can we say the Glory Be too?" asked my middle through his broken sobs. The Glory Be is his favorite.  

I replied, "Yes baby, that's a good idea. Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Amen. Glory be ..."  

As we finished praying the Glory Be, I heard something I don't know that I'll ever be able to get out of my head.   

"Mommy, I'm too young to die. We're too young to die."  My youngest said this, hysterical at this point.   

I automatically responded, "No, we won't die, baby. We're going to be OK. God is taking care of us right now." 

 My husband gently pulled him in and got down to eye level with him and told him how important it was for us to get back to our van and to try to take some deep breaths to help his body calm down.   

After what seemed like an eternity (but was, in reality, only four to five minutes), we walked to our van in the parking garage. My husband and I took deep breaths. Our kids were crying. They were still processing what had just happened and wondering why it happened.   

We drove back to our hotel and as the kids were getting ready for bed, I said a prayer of thanks. And then we said our regular bedtime prayers and each of the kids said that they were happy we didn't get hurt. We typically don't ad-lib during our bedtime prayers, but that night we did.   

I don't know that I'll ever be able to hear fireworks without being reminded of that night. In the part of Georgia where we live, fireworks are allowed until certain hours of the night on certain dates. New Year's Eve happens to be one of them and I was anxious leading up to midnight this past year because I knew we would inevitably hear the popping sounds of fireworks. But my anxieties were calmed as midnight struck and the two of my three children who were still awake were more excited about the fact that they made it to midnight. They seemed unfazed by sounds of fireworks nearby.  

As we plan our next summer trip to a new city (not over the Fourth of July holiday, I might add), I can't help but be reminded of that night. I know that night will likely be with me for the rest of my life, as I'm sure it will theirs. But what will also be in my mind the rest of my life and, hopefully theirs, is that, aside from the intensity of that night, as a family, we showed incredible faith in the face of fear and that same faith will continue to guide and protect us the rest of our lives.