A Reminder

I have intended to write for a while now.  Things just kept popping up or Brandon needed to actually use his computer for work-related, paying tasks.  So the blog took a back seat for a bit.  Then Friday rolled around, usually a good evening for blogging and quiet just seemed a better response than me trying to fumble together words.  Sometimes just sitting back and being quiet it better than trying to find words to eloquently express our emotions or sympathies.  I, for one have no idea how those families must be feeling today or 3 days ago when their lives changed forever.  I know how I felt, and still feel, when I think back to August 10th of last year.  That day when we received a phone call from our daughter’s school stating only that there had been an emergency and we needed to come as quickly as we could.  No explanation, no assurance that she was alright or any sort of clue as to what would be waiting for us when we arrived at school.  I know how I felt seeing not one, but what seemed like a sea of emergency vehicles and the police men walking around the school as though they were searching for something.  They were.  I know how I felt when the yellow crime tape started being wrapped around our little elementary school encircling us and we were told by the police that we couldn’t leave.  And I will never forget how it felt when I learned of what sort of horror had happened just two classrooms down from my own little one.  It is scarred in my mind, the drive home, with her sitting quietly in the back seat and me fighting with every ounce on my being to keep the tears at bay until I got home.  And then she said those words that still play back all too frequently and bring with them nightmares, “Mommy, Satan was at my school today.” I asked her how she knew that and immediately pulled the car over as there was no way I could drive now.  She started sobbing, a heart wrenching and terrified sob and she clung to me like she was scared to death of being snatched away.  After she calmed down, I asked again how she knew that, why would she say that Satan was at her school? And she replied, “I could feel him and something very bad happened.” I held her as close as I could without hurting her and told her that yes, something very bad had happened at school that day, but Jesus and His angels were there, too.  And they are stronger and bigger than Satan and his angels, and though bad things happen, right now she was safe.  I couldn’t tell her she would always be safe or that nothing bad would ever happen to her.  And I couldn’t tell her that everyone was safe now, but for the time being, the fact that she was seemed good enough.

I can’t begin to understand the pain and terror and grief, the despair and absolute heartache that the community of Newtown is feeling, because I know that the experience that I had, that only compares to a blink of their experience, was just about too much to bear.

I was going to write about how last Sabbath, the day of Mattie’s big Christmas program, went down as probably one of our roughest parenting days to date.  That it started off with Reese and his pants revolting against one another and him throwing a full-out tantrum because they were touching his skin funny and he refused to put them on.  How Lila couldn’t fit into any of the Christmasy church dresses that I had bought for her.  Well, she fit but she was swimming in them and before even dress number 1 went over her head, she was over the whole clothes thing.  My camera battery was dead on arrival, though I got one shot of a very out-of-place looking Mary Mattie, but at least it was something.  Then before the program even started, Lila got the wiggles and we had to leave the sanctuary.  I went to the Mother’s Room thinking at least we could sit in there and I could see, though probably not hear very well, what was going on.  But when I opened the door, there were toddlers standing on couches and the other mother in the room greeted me with a very jovial, “Come on in, we’re having a party!” Something should really be done about the policies for use of the “quiet room” at church, but we will save that rant for another day.

So it was out to the main lobby for Lila and I.  And my daughters proud moment, my proud moment was missed entirely.

I could go on and tell you about the events that followed, but we will just leave it that there were entirely too many people trying to enjoy a potluck dinner with children who were extremely excited about being with all their little friends during the weekend.  We didn’t end up staying to eat because lines were too long and oh what furious children we had to drag kicking and screaming out to the car.

It was not a day that I care to ever revisit again.

But when I sit down to write about it now, in light of what happened this past Friday morning, it doesn’t seem that bad.  Because come Sunday morning, I got to wake up from my trying day and start all over again with my 3 babies.  That was one of my most challenging days, a real failure as a parent sort of day, but I think God that I had it at all if it meant I had all 3 of my children.

I have been reminded that not only is childhood itself just a blink in time, gone entirely too soon and way before we are ready – but for some, over before it was even finished.  We look at our little ones and imagine what they will be like a few years from now, as teenagers and then adults and parents themselves. But we never look at them and imagine them gone.

I know I’m not the only one out there, but for the past few days and nights, I have held tightly to m y children.  I’ve touched them as much as possible, tracing their little faces as they fall asleep and holding their hands as we walk.  I’ve tried to look directly into their little eyes when they tell me stories, to let them know that they have my full attention and I am listening.  I’ve pulled them close just to memorize their smell and kissed them probably  more than they would prefer.

But as Reese and I were working on some wise men for a nativity set that we have been making, as he was singing “Hark Harold the Angel” (apparently to him, its only the one angel named Harold that gave the tidings of great joy), I was reminded again of the beautiful gift that Christmas is really all about.  No Santa Claus could bring any comfort to mourning parents.  No present or Lexus with a big red bow sitting in the driveway matters at all when your heart is broken.  But a promise that this world is not our home and that death isn’t forever can help a little.  Christmas celebrates the birth of the baby that would grow up to be the man who would take our place.

Light and Life to all He brings

Ris’n with healing in His wings

Mild He lays His glory by

Born that man no more may die

Born to raise the sons of earth

Born to give them second birth

Hark! The herald angels sing

Glory to the newborn King

 

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