Mourning for Newton

In the wake of the horrific tragedy in Connecticut, I can not take my eyes off my own first grader.

My heart is heavy with immeasurable grief for the parents of the 20 small children who were murdered by a crazed gunman. It is unimaginable how they will go on, cope with the holiday season, or even find the desire to make their own breakfast in the morning.
I'm sure most parents in America are holding their little ones extra close these days; maybe even dreading dropping them off at school tomorrow morning.
There is no greater wrong than the murder of a child and I am proud of our country as I watch people from all corners of the nation, and all walks of life, reach out through prayers and vigils to the families in Newton. May we honor the memories of those who died that day by cherishing our families.
We light the candle of Joy this week, the third week of Advent. I cannot imagine how Joy is found when our hearts are so heavy...

We find it, however. The resilience of the human race is incredible, and we always find a way to go on. 

The father of little Emilie Alice Parker asked that this tragedy "not turn into something that defines us, but something that inspires us to be better, to be more compassionate and more humble people." Amen.

 

Advent 2012: Just when you think it's all over, it's not

 Well, it has been exactly one year and one day since I posted my last Advent blog. Here we are again: The season of Advent. It is a most joyous, awakening, and peaceful season. Even last year, in the midst of the horrific storm and never-ending funeral that followed the death of my 10-year marriage, the season of Advent still permeated my Being with feelings of such gratefulness and peace.
In the church, it is a season of great hope and expectation and preparation. It goes beyond that, though. In addition to the Christian hope, preparation and expectation for the birth of Christ, this time of year is always prime time for hope, joy, and preparations for a new beginning and new shot at achieving all those things that slipped through our fingers throughout the year.

I begin this Advent in a different home on the other side of the country, at a different job, with two roommates in addition to my daughters, and with an updated outlook on life. I breathe the ocean air and excitedly await the opportunity to begin each day. The weather in southern California doesn't exactly bring about the nostalgia of my Virginia hometown during the holidays, but there is definitely something about this place that facilitates reflection during recreation ("Reflection During Recreation"...that kinda sounds like some weird exercise class. But seriously, I just made it up. Just now).

So let's see...
this time last year, I had gone from Wife to Single Mom; from beloved daughter to distant relative; from sleeping in on Sundays to exploring my roots in the Episcopalian Church. I was embarking on the greatest and most painful challenges of my life, willing my way through what had become a darkened and fearful existence.
But, it was Advent, and through it all, I was hopeful.

As 2012 progressed, I was reading more and more and realizing that it wasn't over. My life wasn't over. It was dark and scary for sure, but hope remained.

I wasn't damned by God for getting divorced.
I wasn't damned as a Mother for picking a new career, which I believed without any doubt was my calling. My destiny. My reason for being here.
I wasn't damned as a Christian for walking away from the Church for a period.
I wasn't damned as a friend for choosing to be solitary rather than sociable.

Every time I believed it was all over for me, it wasn't.
Last weekend, I spent some time in Yosemite. There is nothing like the majestic views of a place like Yosemite to remind us that we are not the End All of the universe. Our decisions, although will always have consequences, are not going to make or break the world. Trees burn down, and forests regrow. Millions have traversed the paths we now wander. Generations have looked heavenward for answers and guidance to challenges we can not even fathom.