It’s Monday morning. Wake up. Two days are gone. They just disappeared. It’s as if nothing has changed, but nothing is the same.
This morning my heart breaks for every parent who is going to send their little one off to school, and then have a moment of doubt. It has been crying for the parents who had their worst nightmares come true since Friday.
When I close my eyes to pray, there is a moment of comfort. I know that He met them at that moment with warmth and love, the sweet innocents that our world lost too soon. They’re safe now, in a place far better than this. But how do you put into words the prayers for their families? I can’t.
One of my close friends lost someone this weekend, he took his own life. Across the country from the cameras, and the news stories, another community is grieving. And I know there is nothing I can say to her. I know because I’ve been in her shoes, I’ve gotten that call, and there are not words that make it better. There is just sadness, infused with questions and guilt and speculation about what could have been done differently… but none of that helps.
I’ve tried many times to come up with advice for people who stand in the shoes I stood in once. And the best I have is this: love them through it all.
That is my prayer for Connecticut, and for a small town in Wisconsin, and our whole country. Just keep loving them through it. Grieve. Cry. Be angry. But then remember just to love again. Love their memories. Love who they were. Love them straight through the anger, and the sadness, and the questions. Trust me, if you hold on to the rest of it, and not the love, it will make you crazy.
We can argue about gun control, be divided on mental health care, and drive deeper wedges between us all later, but for this week, I pray we just love through it. Arguing with family over politics at Christmas dinner won’t fix this. But love, it might.
Ridiculous Grace 