Monday, December 17, 2012

Not As It Will Be

On Friday night, my youngest asked if she could sleep on the floor next to my bed. She was fighting the flu her older sister had passed down. I fluffed up down comforters and soft, thick blankets, layering her bedding. I piled pillows high so her cough wouldn’t bother her throat too much.  I checked to make sure she was surrounded by tissues, a water bottle, and her favorite stuffed animals. We prayed. Then I asked what book she wanted me to read.

Her older sister had thought of her and had taken out a book from the school library earlier that day.

This is the book my kindergartener asked me to read.

Enter the moment.

Though my eyes sting, I open the colorful pages and begin to read, my voice quivery, my heart a ragged, suffering thing inside my chest.

“Here comes Pete strolling down the street, rocking red shoes on his four furry feet. Pete is going to school, and he sings this song…”

Sandy Hook. 20 children dead. 6 adults. My home state. Another school shooting branding permanent images in my brain, my soul. 
The crushing losses.

Pages later my voice catches but I continue to read.

“Pete has never been to the library before! Does Pete worry? Goodness, no! He finds his favorite book and sings his song…”

I kiss my daughter’s feverish head. She knows little, next to nothing about what media networks will be highlighting for weeks.

Then I get to this…

“Pete and his friends are playing outside on a green, grassy field with swings and tall slides. Where is Pete? The playground! Kids are running in every direction! Does Pete worry? Goodness, no!”

I sniffle and hold the flood of emotions I’m feeling at bay concerned I’ve already let her see me cry enough for one day.

I make it through to the end of the book.

“When school is done, Pete rides the bus home.”

I’m slammed with the memory of rushing earlier in the day to embrace my older two girls as they bounded off the bus.

“Pete’s mom asks him, ‘What did you do at school today?’ And Pete says… ‘I was rocking in my school shoes…And I will do it again tomorrow! Because it’s all good!’”

My resolve crumbles into a thousand pieces because it so isn’t all good. This world is nothing as it will be.

I tuck the covers up to my daughter’s neck, then I collapse over her wishing I could be a barrier, shielding her from everything out there. We’d already encountered a glimpse of how unsafe this world can be in another form earlier in the year. Now this…

I want her to rock in her school shoes.

I crave heaven.

I turn off the light and thank God for Christmas.

I thank God hope came to earth as a baby. And still lives today.

*My email has been down for days. I apologize if you’ve been trying to reach me and you haven’t heard back. The system seems like it’s almost fully restored.
**I will be posting this Friday.


  1. Right there with you, Wendy.
    Right there with you.

  2. Let me add my amen. I think we've all been touched--our mommy-hearts are bleeding for all of them. Thanks for reminding everyone that hope is not gone from this world!

  3. As others have said...simply amen.

  4. Until this happened on Friday, I wasn't aware of the golden thread that linked mommy hearts together across the world. Though we can't imagine the depth of grieving in those empty homes, our own hearts are heavy and our own prayers are being lifted up to somehow lighten the burden of their pain. I don't even want to begin questioning why. There is no answer that will satisfy my heart or mind. None.

  5. The first person I thought of was you when I finally heard of the tragedy on Friday. It makes me sick there can be so much evil in the world. I'm hugging my babies tightly too.

  6. I know, honey, I know. I crave Heaven, too, and weep for the ones whose arms are empty this Christmas.

  7. Amen. Yes, we do have hope. And because of HIM, death and evil will not have the last word.

  8. I can't write yet. Can't even begin to sort through my jumbled thoughts. Don't want to turn on the tv or look at those precious faces over and over. But I can pray. And will.

  9. Thanks for your responses to this post today. I had a meaningful day doing what I felt led to do and was blessed beyond expectation. I just pray I blessed others in return. Community is important in times like this. I get so tempted to isolate myself in the winter and days like today remind me the value of coming together.

    Thanks also for the mentions on various sites. I appreciate it. We are all processing this and grieving together. May God's light shine upon you.


  10. Amen. I thought about your family this weekend. Thank you so much for sharing!

  11. Makes me long for heaven, too, Wendy! ((hugs))

  12. Hugs to you in the midst of the heartache, Wendy.

  13. I have dear friends in CT, who are like family. Two of the little boys are kindergarten and 2nd graders. Before I heard the name of the town, my heart seized up. I'm relieved both your children and their children are fine, but I ache for those mourning such a devastating loss.

  14. This post is so beautiful, Wendy: you are truly a beautiful writer. You brought tears to my eyes.


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