There is Still Hope

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking, how we need to hear from God,

You've been promised, we've been waiting, welcome holy child, welcome holy child.

"Welcome to our World", written by Chris Rice 

This morning, Liam and I made breakfast.

I let him sit on the counter and he got to pick out the egg he wanted.  He dropped that one on the floor and, after a few tears, picked a new one from the carton.  He dumped an inordinate amount of cheese in with egg, and watched with great glee as I folded it, at his request, to make it look just like my own omelet.

Halfway through our cooking, Micah wandered in sleepily, sucking his thumb and coming over for a morning hug.  He asked for pancakes and went to sit in his seat.  Liam and I ate together while Tim made Micah's pancakes.

Later, when it was time for Micah to go to the bus stop, he burst into our bedroom, all crazy-tumbly-five-year-old boy, and I gave him a kiss and I gave him a hug and I told him that I loved him and hoped that he had a really good day at school.  When Liam got back from taking his brother to the bus stop, he came to see me as I was getting ready and he was carrying a box of Matchbox cars.  He asked me to play and I promised that, while I couldn't right then, we would have most of the day to play tomorrow.  Tomorrow.

Still later, when I went to leave for work, I picked up a giggling Liam from the couch and tickled him and heard his laugh and kissed his cheek and put him down, only to have him say, "Do it again, Mommy."  So I did.

It was in all ways an ordinary morning. It was in no way special.  It was a scene that was no doubt repeated many times today across the world, across America, and in Newtown, CT.  The difference is that there are many parents for whom today was the last ordinary morning they will ever have. Those often-harried moments before school were the last precious moments they will have with their child.

What personally breaks my heart is the idea that trusting children, in the midst of chaos, probably cried for moms and dads that never got a chance to come and soothe them and save them, never got a chance to kiss them and make everything okay.  Teachers, who probably understood the horror that was unfolding almost immediately, were powerless to stop the violence or protect the young children that they taught and loved. Administrators, who probably need just as much time to grieve as everyone else, will be thrust into the spotlight and forced to face a question for which they have no answer: why?

As the information comes out and we find out that a kindergarten class and teacher were the main victims, I can't help but think about my own kindergartener.  About all the things he does in the course of his day.  Of how he's learning to write and read and communicate and socialize - how he's learning to learn, and how much respect we have for his teacher who has poured herself into making sure he is a good student and citizen. And I can't let my mind go to the dark places where it's almost impossible to even imagine evil like what happened in Connecticut today. Because I would never stop crying.

Children lost their innocence today. Children who just this morning were so excited for Santa and Christmas and Hannukah. That innocence will never be recovered, and so much is lost. 

Bring your peace into our violence, bid our hungry souls be filled

Word now breaking heaven's silence, welcome to our world, welcome to our world.

In the days and weeks to come, there will be a lot of anger, and there will be a lot of talk - why is there so much evil in the world, what should we do about gun control, how do we help people with mental illness. And really the only question that will be asked, although it will be phrased in countless ways, is how can we prevent this from ever happening again.

The bad news is that we can't.  We can take all kinds of protective measures and pass all kinds of laws and lockdown our children in school every day and wear bulletproof clothing and the sad reality of our broken world is this: as long as there is sin, Satan will win and there will be evil acts that horrify us, break our hearts, crush our spirits, and test our souls.

But that is not the end of the story.

The good news, maybe the only good news besides the number of people who did survive, is that Christmas is still coming.  Jesus is still coming. The hope of the season is that love is on its way to earth.  And it is only that love that can begin to heal the wounds that were inflicted today.

Fragile fingers sent to heal us, tender brow prepared for thorn,

Tiny heart whose blood will save us, unto us is born, unto us is born.

Two thousand years ago, another parent sent his son to earth already knowing that he would need to die as a sacrifice, that he would lose his only child in a shocking act of unimaginable violence. God has been where we are.  God is with us still today.  And we prepare once again to open our hearts to a baby whose blood will heal us.

Until he comes again in final glory and in the ultimate healing, we hug our children tighter.  We put them first.  We put down our hairbrushes and spatulas and computers and spend time with those we cherish most in this earthly life.

May God surround the brokenhearted with his grace, love, peace, hope, courage, and strength.  May the kind of horror we experienced today not win out over joy.  May children who saw only evil today learn again that there is good in the world.  And may love conquer all.

So wrap our injured flesh around you, breathe our air and walk our sod,

Rob our sin and make us holy, perfect Son of God, welcome to our world.