It's been hard to write. I start to type and then I feel guilt. Guilt that my life is still normal, when others have lost so, so much.
I was looking at my pictures from Friday. If you can believe it, it was the day of our Elementary School Christmas programs. I had two shows to attend. One in the morning for Annie and William's classes and one in the afternoon for Lincoln's.
I was happy and excited and filled with Christmas cheer all morning. All was right in the world, or so I thought. I don't watch TV (well, I should say, I don't watch TV until we're going to bed and Ben turns on the news). However, after the afternoon program my friend asked if I'd heard about what happened in CT. She gave me the brief story as far as people knew it at that moment. I went right home and got on the computer.
I just don't have the words . . .
It's all we hear about now. My kids practiced lock-down drills at school this week, "In case a bad guy comes into the school." There's no way around it. I just can't stop thinking about the moms and dads and brothers and sisters and teachers and all who lost someone that day.
I keep coming back to a statement made by Chris Williams, who lost his pregnant wife and two of his children when a drunk teenager crashed into his car. He said, "I'm grateful that God allows tragedies and trials to occur in our lives, not because they're easy or because they're desired, but because they help us love..."
He wasn't some random onlooker at the accident, or a guy watching the news. It was HIS loss. His wife. His children. If he can say it, well, I believe it.
I have watched an outpouring of love all over this country for those involved in this awful, awful tragedy. People come together, they gather with sad and broken and compassionate hearts. They minister to each other, they comfort, they act as a balm to the sorrowful.
Those things are light to me. Those things are reminders that there is still abundant goodness in this world. And that goodness gives me hope that healing will come. Hearts may still feel broken, but the rawness will find relief. That's what love does.
I choose love.