I wrote a blog post today.  I’d been trying to write it for several days, but when it was done, I put it in blog post purgatory—the place where posts I don’t like or don’t feel ready to share go to stay… indefinitely.  I tried.  I really did, but everything seemed so hollow.  So trivial. 

I haven’t been able to write very much because writing makes me think, and right now, I’m afraid that if I think, I might go crazy.  I have felt crazy the past few days.  Probably most of us have.

I find myself imagining.  I wonder if, as a teacher, I would have the presence of mind to do all the things I’ve been trained to do.  I wonder if I would sacrifice myself for others.  I wonder what I would do if I knew 20 children were depending on me for their lives and my own two children were somewhere else in the building.  And then I wonder about the parents sitting in that firehouse and waiting.  And that’s where my mind and heart begin to go over the cliff and I have to stop because I’m afraid I won’t be able to get back.

I don’t have anything worthwhile or hopeful to add to this conversation because, frankly, I am struggling with faith and hope myself.  That may be the biggest reason of all for not writing.  I keep reading other posts about faith, forgiveness, hope and understanding, and they have been a comfort, but personally, I’m not there yet.  Not there enough to write about it myself.  If I did, it wouldn’t ring true.  I’m pissed off and scared and aching for people I don’t know at all except that I know the overwhelming, mind-numbing, soul-splitting love that they feel for their precious children. 

The only thing I can do right now is to pray for those people.  To pray for God to comfort them and to give them some sort of peace.  Deep down, I don’t know if I believe that is possible, but I keep praying it anyway.  My prayers have swung from one extreme to the other—between bitter tears and teeth-gritting anger to deep breaths and whispered words of peace and hope.  Part of me feels guilty about this too.  If I were a better person, I would only be praying the latter.  But—I’m still praying.  I can only believe that God will forgive me my questions and my doubt and fear.  I hope that counts as a form of faith.

Despite the fact that I do not feel able to make sense of it and offer words of comfort, others have.  I am posting  two that have spoken to me this week.  I hope you will find comfort in them as well.

God Can’t Be Kept Out

“When
I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would
say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are
helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my
mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are
still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” — Mister
Rogers

 In the meantime, keep looking for the good.  It is out there.  THEY are out there– so many.  And keep praying– even if it is angry or outraged or sad or confused.  God will understand.

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