20 Unopened Gifts

Today there was a nervous sadness that settled over the workplace as the events of a morning forever scarred by a gunman unfolded. We all tried to go on with our day as though it were like any other.  But the truth is, it is not like any other.  We all seemed to hug a little tighter, laugh a little harder, cry a little softer, shout a little louder.  It was as though all of our emotions were intesified. 

As I drove home, intentionally putting aside all other tasks, I could not help but put up a little Christmas in my small space I call home.  And I kept thinking about 20 gifts that are not going to be opened on Christmas morning; 20 Christmas stockings that Santa will not fill; 20 little faces that will
not shine with excitment on Christmas morning. There are those little ones left behind who will not share Christmas with one of the eight grown-ups that were still in their lives yesterday.

My best friend teaches kindergarten.  I can't quit thinking about her.  And the kids she chooses to love on a daily basis. 

The sorrow is so deep that praying even escapes me.   But I am also believing that these little ones are safe now.  They are released from the terror of this day because there is a God out there who swiftly welcomed them into Heavenly safety.

I don't know how to end today.  I want to hug my children, snuggle my grandchildren.  They are all tucked safely into their beds in their repective homes tonight. It is a good night to snuggle up with someone special to you.  May your sleep be sweet, and warmed by knowing you are loved by another. And tomorrow?  Choose to love them back.    Our days may be few.