I wrote my last post early this morning. When I came back from lunch and heard about the tragedy in Connecticut, I realized how ominous it must have sounded. It’s just something that has been on my heart for a long while: what my purpose is and what life means when it is seemingly cut short. I always wax sentimental at this time of year, as I try to steel my nerves for the grief cloud that is sure to hover over me in late-January near the anniversary of my brother’s death.

I haven’t turned on the television or looked at Twitter since I got home from work, because I’m trying to insulate my heart from a nonstop stream of details about today’s school shooting. We spent the evening after dinner addressing 24 teacher gifts. I was planning to do it later this weekend, but today seemed fitting to pause and thank them for all that they do, each and every day. I want to hug the kids tightly and promise to protect them always, but I know that is a promise that I cannot keep. At some point, I have to release them into the Lord’s care and just … trust. It’s a terrifying notion to be reminded that I am incapable of keeping them safe 24/7.

So, I will hug them a little snugger and kiss their foreheads a little bit longer and offer a prayer of thanksgiving for another day … together.