Boston

Boston.

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It's becoming routine now...I see a cryptic message on Facebook and my heart sinks.  "Praying for the people of Boston."  And I rush to npr.org to find out why prayers are needed.

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My six year old, out of the blue, in the car (of course) said this the other day: "I remember something sad."

When I asked her what, she said: "I remember that a guy went into a school with a gun and shot and killed a bunch of little kids."

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When I was six, I remembered things like Easter egg hunts and art festivals and playing with the Harrison kids from down the street.

My kids will remember Easter egg hunts, hikes at Lake Anza, garden tours...and guns and bombs and death.  My oldest, who heard from his friends that Facebook and Instagram were all about something in Boston, called me at work this afternoon: "Mom, what happened in Boston?"  On the one hand, I want to be able to explain it to him and find a way to soothe him, to make it OK for him to hear and deal with.  On the other hand, I don't want him, or any of them, to ever be used to this, to ever feel like this is just normal.  It seems too normal for my children to hear something shocking and then move on.

Facebook is a mixed bag, to be sure.  But today, I'm grateful for it, because a friend of mine posted a beautiful prayer she heard this weekend from a nun speaking at a event for Catholic Charities in San Francisco.  I don't know the nun's name or if she wrote this prayer.  I'm guessing she will not mind if I spread these words, for there is so much need for them to be heard far and wide.  Tonight, I am speaking to my children in the words of this prayer.  Thank you, Sister, for the only thing that ever helps in moments of tragedy: beautiful, true words.

May God bless you with a restless discomfort about easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may seek truth boldly and love deep within your heart.

May God bless you with holy anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people,
so that you may tirelessly work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.

May God bless you with the gift of tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, or the loss of all that they cherish, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and transform their pain into joy.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you really can make a difference in this world, so that you are able, with God’s grace, to do what others claim cannot be done.

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A Reason, If Not an Excuse

Apparently, I am too tired to blog these days.  Perhaps this is why:

I would credit this, if I knew to whom to give the credit.
I found this gem on Facebook.

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Upon Hearing the Following...

Upon hearing me apologize sheepishly for not coloring hard-boiled eggs this year, my 8 year old said: "Good.  I HATE coloring eggs."

Upon hearing that his Spring Break is another 8 days long, while his brother's is ending in 2 days, my 14 year old said: "I go back to school in a Beatles week; you go back to school in a Taylor Swift relationship."

Upon hearing me ask if he could have possibly predicted that his little sister would cry when he said something cruel and heartless to her, my 12 year old said: "I don't actually know what's going to come out of my mouth until it does."

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Upon hearing all of this, I just adore my children.

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We salvaged a dangerously grumpy Easter morning with a very muddy hike.  Here are the shoes and one of the smiles that prove it:

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