Worn

Flags at half mast.
News stories with small faces.
Babies being laid to rest.
Mothers in terror of sending their children to school.
Conversations about gun control.
Images of candles. Stuffed animals. Shrines to the lost.

It's so much. It HURTS. My heart beats with fear and worry and pain.
And in this collective grief, over all, is a mother's wailing.
Their babies are gone. Never to return to this earth.
Why, God, why?
I don't understand.
Everyday it becomes worse. These feelings of being absolutley wrecked by this world.

But.
This is the world we have been given. This is the world we are expected to live in, to learn from, and bring light to.
Even when it seems impossible. Even when the light, to ourselves, is hard to see.
We are commanded to be light.
In the darkness, light.
And there is no time darker.
And no time better for us to rise up and light the way.
So I say this- take the burden.

Carry the pain for these other mothers like us. Pick it up. Take the pain. Feel it. Feel it with them, carry it with them, and pray for their strength.
In all times, when you think of babies being lost to evil, pray to carry some of the grief for these mothers like us.
So in the times they break, in the times they feel alone and like giving up, they may feel a piece of the light. That they may feel carried in some small way.
That they may feel Him. His presence. An onrush of grace, a peace that surpasses.

Look at your home. Your Christmas tree. Your stockings, your gifts, your wreaths. It is all celebrating this one thing- Christ came. For you, for us.
For those babies. For their mothers, their fathers. For the city of Newtown.

It is all about Him.
His life began.
His life ended.
All for us.

We are oh so weary. All of us. Weary and grieving. But there are those that are broken where we are not.
Share that light with those that have none. Carry the burden of grief for those overwhelmed.
Rise up, beloved. Rise up and fight for those that cannot. Put on the armor of Christ and carry them.
Light into darkness.

Tomorrow

I look at her face. So sweet. Big eyes, round cheeks, ready smile. I feel her heart beat as I hold her. I smell her sweet head, rub her small back. I brush her hair and I help her dress.

And I am so so sad. I am mournful. I am picturing her, and her friends. I am picturing the terror and the fear and the crying.

I am picturing the empty room. And the empty arms. And the empty heart.

Some say after a tragedy like this- dont put yourself in that place. Don't think about it as it relates to your child.

I don't have that skill. I can't not feel it or think it. I can't not grieve with those mothers. I can't.

I can't not look at the pictures of those slain little babies and NOT memorize their faces and their names. Because I am a mother. And I have a child that age. And because I am human.

I will not turn away. I will not pretend it didn't happen. Because I am in this world to learn and be taught. And things like this- horrific, horrible things- these things teach. And they move us to change ourselves. The lessons are hard and terrible. And the change can be very very difficult. But it is important to witness it and let it move you in the way God wants it to.

I am afraid. I am prayerful, but I am afraid. I don't want to send Lily to school tomorrow. I don't want to let go of her hand and let her run into a place that is beyond my control. But if I don't- if I don't do it- does evil win?

This is so so hard.

Hardest of all is what I am sure many of us parents feel- God, where were you? How could You let this happen? For that question, I have no answers. I am angry. I am angry that He did not intervene. I am angry that He didn't stop the bullets, stop the killing, and keep those percious babies with their parents.

But I also know that it is not up to me to know why. Evil exists. Evil does what evil does- it crushes. It kills. And it causes pain. Why this happens, I am not given to know.

The worst thought, the most painful thought-if it could happen there...it could happen here. It could be my child's school. Her class...it could be her.

Tomorrow will come. With it's uncertainty. With it's fear. I will drive her to school. I will walk her to the crosswalk. I will kiss her. I will let go of her hand.

And like all mothers, I will not breathe until I hold her again.

God help us.