I’ve been debating writing anything about the tragedy that occurred in Connecticut this past Friday. Although I don’t feel like my words can do it justice, it also doesn’t feel right to make no mention of something that has caused so much suffering.
The news brought us to our knees on Friday afternoon and now, two days later, we go to bed with hearts that are broken and anger that lingers.
The feeling of “what the f, world?!” remains, and the reality that we are living in a world where our kindergarteners know too much weighs heavily on us.
I spent most of Friday in the depressing mindset that this must be our lowest point. This has got to be mankind at its worst.
But I’m sure this has been said before. I’m sure we thought the same thing in Colorado in 1999, or in Virginia in 2007. After all, they’re all somebody’s babies.
And then, you start to hear the stories about what took place in Newtown. They aren’t stories of hate. They are stories of genuine, unselfish love. Stories of a community who loves each other, and stories of teachers who love their students; teachers who remind us why we send our kids off to kindergarten in the first place.
And cautiously, ever so slowly, our faith in humanity is being restored.