“Ohhhh… balloons!” came the breathless voice of my toddler. Her striped tights-clad legs methodically kicked the back of my seat and I paused to thank God for that sweet discomfort.
She had no idea those balloons represented the lives lost in Friday’s senseless school shooting.
“Pray for Newtown,” my son read off sign after sign as we drove closer and closer to Sandy Hook. “Well, that’s awesome! Why don’t we have those in all towns? You know, not just “Welcome to ___town”, but “PRAY for ___town”… that seems like a good idea!”
Media swarms. They are EVERYWHERE. The four blocks from the flagpole to the doctor’s office typically take under two minutes. Today, they take more than fifteen. I take the time as I crawl along to read all the effigies, to gaze upon all the stuffed animals.
My children delight in the bears and angels and flowers.
And, perhaps, that’s just exactly as it should be. Perhaps that’s the point.
My children? Are just like the Sandy Hook children. I have six- and seven-year-olds (plus that little one with the kicky striped legs.) Sweet, innocent, beautiful souls who delight in angels and bears and balloons… who find joy in the simplest things.
So maybe it’s just right that they, even in the midst of the cameras and the misery and the police officers IN their school, smile and laugh and find complete and utter joy.
I don’t know. I really just don’t know.
I know that it’s hard to hide my own weeping. I know they have no idea why a cluster of pretty little angels would cause tears to pour down my cheeks. I know that, somehow, some way, through the serious combined efforts of parents, teachers, administrators, and bus drivers, they’ve thus-far been shielded.
It blows my mind that MY children, who are so very close to the tragedy, seem to have been better-shielded than so many children states and states away… how does THAT happen?
I don’t know.
If there’s one thing this disjointed post should tell you it’s that there’s a whole lot I don’t know…
But I know there’s beauty in this world. And I know that, even when I fail to see it, my children will find it for me.
God Bless the little children.