Image courtesy of From Old Books
I don’t know what to write. I haven’t got anything pithy. I have fear and anger and empty hands.
While I kneel in prayer and say thank you for my sleeping babies, I think that maybe my gratitude is glaring in a place that is dark. We spent the weekend talking about homeschooling, because maybe I can protect my girls against this. But what about everywhere else? Everyone else? Everything else? I believe each one of those children is being taken care of in a far off place, but I hate that their families have been left behind with hearts torn and bleeding. After Riley falls asleep, I stay awake. I know the questions those mothers are asking. Did my baby hurt? Was she afraid? Did she look for me when I wasn’t there to help her? Why, dear God, why wasn’t I there to help her?
I fall into the dark and don’t know when I finally go to sleep.
Then, the morning light comes down, softened by clouds, touching the snow before it floats into my window. And I remember that I have something more than fear and anger and emptiness.
I have God, a divine being that can see into the eternities and into our hearts. And this life isn’t easy or easily understood or even mostly beautiful. But it is worth it. And we have work to do and walls to paint and children to kiss and the light of the stars to dance under. And yes, there are people that would crush us into dust. And God weeps for them when we can’t. And someday, in the light of His eternal understanding, He will gather each one of us to Him and push the hair from our faces as He says, I know it was hard. I know it hurt. I know you were scared. I am so glad you are home.
And so I will trust in that day. And in all the days He gives me before it. And I will use my time here well. And I will lift those that cannot lift themselves. And I will learn to forgive. And I will remember to smile.
And that will fill the emptiness. One day at a time.