I slowly started to see the tweets coming into my Twitter stream early Friday. I noted them and passed them by, hoping it would come to nothing… hoping it was too far away…. hoping it wouldn’t affect me. A school shooting. More tweets came. And more. And more. And then the numbers started to become a reality. The death toll. Children. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I couldn’t tune out the horrifying events that were unfolding in the world around me – so far away, yet entirely too close in this connected age. Children not much older than my Cameron never coming home again. Parents finding out that their family will forever be disfigured. Christmas presents forever unopened. Dear God, no. This is just too horrible. Too unfathomable. And while all of the hatred and fear and pain were brewing in the air around me, there were my boys, just playing happily in my living room as if the world wasn’t slowly going to shit. What is this place and time that I have brought them into? Some days, the world just feels too horrific. Sometimes I wonder if I have introduced my children to this world only to experience hardship and turmoil and debt and destruction. Sometimes I fear how much worse things will get in their lifetimes. They have no idea the world they are entering. It is a world where people believe carrying guns should be a right because our society is has more fear than kindness. It is a world where so many suffer because greed is king. It is a world where taking care of ourselves is more important than taking care of others. It is a world where the most perfectly beautiful things are little children who don’t know that the world is full of nightmares yet. I wish I have words to justify this in my mind. I wish I could pull some trite lesson from everything that has happened. I don’t have any of that. Not today and not yesterday and not tomorrow. Instead, I can only sit and cry and hold my children tight. So  much beauty was snuffed out of this world on Friday. And to fill its place, anxiety rushed in. I’ve felt it. I’ve watched it spread from parent to parent. We are all realizing that this world isn’t as gentle to our children as we would like it to be. We are all realizing that our children aren’t safe. Oh, my boys. My beautiful, precious boys. I can’t possibly protect them forever. I can’t possibly keep the world from shattering around them. I can’t possibly step in front of every bullet. But on Friday, I didn’t need to shield bullets. Today, they are still children. They are still innocent. They are still beautiful. They are still here. I don’t know why I am the lucky one. I saw how lucky I was as I watched them play on Friday, being little beacons of light in such a darkened world. I can’t possibly be this lucky every day. I picked my baby up. On that horrible, dark day, I held him in my arms and I rocked him. I let his head fall onto my shoulder and I placed my cheek on his forehead. Then, I invited his older brother onto the recliner with us. Together we sat, my arms around both of them, just rocking. My whole world, there, in my arms, so small and fragile and innocent. They knew nothing of what was going on in the outside world or what was happening inside their Mama. Even in the midst of horrible tragedy, I realized that badness had just taken up a portion of our lives. It covered a lot of things, but goodness still shined through. My arms were full up of beauty and joy and light and innocence. Even when the world shrinks, there are still pockets of beauty. I can’t make this experience teachable. I never want to have to sit down with my sons and talk about why there is so much horror in our world. But, when I inevitably do have to do this, I hope that they can still see some light in the darkness. Because it is there, at least for us lucky ones. I am heartbroken. I am grateful. I am blessed. ...