A Loss for Words

I feel that I can't -- and perhaps shouldn't -- continue to blog about Christmas baking, The Nutcracker, and festive events when something of an unspeakable magnitude, of unimaginable horror, took place in a small elementary school in Connecticut on Friday.

The truth, though, is that I really have no words. I have nothing new to bring to the conversation. If I'm being completely honest, I've watched the news reports in bits and pieces, unable and maybe even unwilling to let myself "go there" completely. I can barely stand to look at the photos of kids who have the same grins full of those tiny baby teeth and those eyes that sparkle with happiness and/or mischief, much like my own daughter's, or the photos of the school administrators and teachers who obviously took their jobs to heart and were advocates for their students even in their last breath. I have a choice in what I read, watch, and allow myself to experience; my heart breaks for grieving families and loved ones who are forced to face a nightmarish reality.

Last night before going to bed, I read an email that Amelia's principal sent to all the parents of the school. She was transparent and honest about how difficult and confusing these days after this senseless tragedy have been and will continue to be. The email ended with a prayer that I found comforting and reassuring, and I will end with it as well:

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. 
Where there is hatred, let us sow love; 
where there is injury, pardon; 
where there is discord, union; 
where there is doubt, faith; 
where there is despair, hope; 
where there is darkness, light; 
where there is sadness, joy. 
Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; 
to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. 
For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we
are born to eternal life.  

Amen.