I question even talking about this--because I know that generally, it's easy to hate the sad stuff and want the butterflies and rainbows, but I have to.
Ever since hearing about the explosions at the Boston Marathon yesterday I've been walking around in a haze of sadness. My heart feels absolutely broken and I feel this pit of pain deep down and this ache that I know pales in comparison to what those involved are dealing with today.
Even though my entire self tells me not to turn on the TV, that the news articles online were enough, I do it anyway. Because I need to see, I need to feel, I need to connect with those who are affected by this closer. I feel that my tears, that being absolutely gutted by this, show that as a country, we're all affected by these outlandish acts of crime and senselessness. That in the end, it doesn't matter your beliefs or mine, your background or mine--we're all here, living here-feeling deeply for one another in these times of confusion.
I couldn't help but stare at my baby yesterday, envying her innocence. The fact that right now, she has the privilege of living in a little world where she doesn't know or fully understand the sinful nature of people. That she doesn't have to feel or see or connect with any of it in this moment. It made my heart hurt for my kids future. It makes me scared and admittedly confused at how to raise them without living in constant fear. The fear that I find myself having to push aside just so I can breathe, and let go, and still live life--because if I think about it for too long, or dwell too long, I'd probably never leave my home.
The reality is, our safety isn't guaranteed anywhere. It's not. And to think I have any control over that, in the grand scheme of things--is silly and naive.
Situations like yesterday rock me to my core. I think of every aspect. From every different scenario. How many months of training went into that race yesterday for those people. The anticipation of nice weather for such a big race. All the plans and work that goes into having family and friends there to support you. The happiness that should have been felt as people crossed the finish line. I sobbed, yesterday, seeing the man go down, who was hit by flying debris, only feet from the finish line. Sobbed.
So much work. SO much so. To just be taken down at the end, so close to his goal--because of some horrid act of violence.
My mind can't fully wrap around it.
You know, I'm hardly a runner compared to those amazing marathoners. I run slow, and not for long--but I run. And today I went to the gym and pounded out a few miles, while staring at the tiny treadmill tv news, and I prayed for them. I prayed, and I prayed, and I cried a little more.
I felt connected in that moment. We're all connected.
I wonder how we'll get past this. How much worse will it get for my children's future. But I can't go there, and I'm reminded of this verse:
"So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today's trouble is enough for today." Matthew 6:34
God, please replace this fear with hope.