On Friday at 11:30 I was driving to my daughter's school to read to her class when I heard the terrible news from Connecticut on the radio. I had to take a good while to cry and pray in my car parked in front of the school before I could compose myself and go inside. Like you, my heart is broken for those precious babies and their families.
I've struggled all weekend to find peace and honestly, it comes and goes. I've held my own babies close, and hugged them until they've begged me off and wriggled away. I knew that before my girls were to head back to school today, I would have to talk to them about what happened so they wouldn't hear it from someone at school and have to face that knowledge alone. and I wanted so much to get to a good place myself so I could speak to them of comfort and peace and God's love and help them really believe it. The last thing I wanted was to take from them their happy, secure, beautiful outlook on this world.
On Sunday I attended sacrament meeting at our church praying for healing, personally and of course for those impacted directly. It was our Christmas program, and we sang and spoke of Jesus Christ, of his birth and his life. A soloist sang "What Child is This?" and with teary eyes, my thoughts turned to another carol, the Coventry Carol, which tells of the countless children who died at the order of king Herod shortly after the birth of Christ. The joyous birth of the long-awaited Prince of Peace had come to pass, so soon to be followed by horrific tragedy.
Certainly God could prevent such events. Certainly He must weep to see such suffering among his children. He did, after all, send his Son to deliver us, to bring peace and comfort. But deliverance from the physical captivity and pain and trials and losses of this life is not always the kind of deliverance the Savior gives. Often it is the deeper, more profound and endlessly more meaningful gift of peace amid trial, of comfort in sorrow, of a surety that he is perfectly aware of us in the midst of our suffering because he has borne it himself. And the promise that through him, all will be well.
With those thoughts in mind, and with prayerful hearts, Caleb and I told Malan and Jane last night about what had happened. It was hard. Lots of questions were asked and answered. We told them there were loved ones waiting to hug and hold those sweet children on the other side, that for sure Jesus was there to meet them and that they will be safe and happy until they are with their families again. Then we kissed them and told them we loved them and sent them off to sleep. I don't want to have to have a talk like that again, ever. But their tender, innocent hearts understood and rather than fear and confusion, I believe seeds of empathy and compassion were planted.
Like you, I am still processing. I still find myself in tears throughout the day as thoughts of the terrors of Friday come into mind. But this morning I sent my two oldest babies back to school with hugs and smiles. I feel at peace that they will be safe, and that, like one insightful blogger mentioned this morning, angels (likely dear loved ones who have passed on) watch over our sweet children. That I am sure angels were with those children in their last moments, comforting and calming them and taking them quickly on to a much more beautiful place. And I know that through Jesus Christ, all will be well.
Hugs and prayers to all of you at this hard time, from our family.
