Daybreak

Last week was a marvelous meteor shower. I’m usually all over this type of thing; laying out watching the stars is one of my absolute favorite things to do. I “missed” this one though. I was so fatigued from the week, trying to finish projects before my Christmas vacation and having off on Friday to go home. I had planned on leaving Thursday night, but by the time I got home to pack and head south I was so tired that I decided to wait til the morning to make the drive. I was asleep before 8:30.

The drive home in the morning, alone, was so peaceful. It’s hard to describe. I had no idea I would be watching a show that no human could recreate. Words like gorgeous and wonderful don’t really do it justice. I wish I had a sort of video camera or something to have captured it. There were several meteors that streaked across the sky while I was driving, as the dawn was breaking over the horizon, fading from navy to blue and green, then bursting into beautiful pinks, oranges, and gold. Streaks of meteors were dancing on the brink of this sunrise before it got too bright to see them. I have never in my life seen anything like this before. The whole drive home, I could not wait for our trip out to Yellowstone to see what the night sky looks like there, with less light pollution and higher elevation: I imagine it to be more astounding than anything I’m used to here in Indiana.

This was the same morning that children and teachers and an unsuspecting mother in Connecticut were tragically taken from this earth. That fact has not escaped me over the past few days. I have this eerie feeling that brings tears to my eyes, that God was preparing for those angels to come home that morning, and He was showing off with this show because He couldn’t wait to meet them in just a few short hours.

I’ve been so emotional since that day. With my baby fever, and loving children all my life, I can’t bear to watch the news anymore. It’s too heartbreaking. I cry every time I see those children’s faces. I cry when I see the video of the policemen sprinting into the building to save them. I cry when the parents come on TV. It makes me want to cling to the children that I don’t yet have in my arms. It makes me want to do more to help people, of all ages. It pushes me to make a difference. To protect those that need protecting. To tell those I love that I love them. I pray for that whole community; the families who lost members, the friends of those lost, the family of the shooter because they lost someone they loved, too; those with survivor’s guilt; the teachers and administrators; the cops and first responders; the FBI agents that have to make sense of the scene; the emergency department staff; the funeral home directors. I can’t imagine. I don’t even want to think about it. It’s just so horrible.

Life is so precious, and yet so short. If there is anything good that comes of this, I hope that it is brotherly love and forgiveness. I hope that life does not make us hard and callous, but kind and compassionate. If you ever want to feel how small you are, look to the sky at night. It has gained 27 new stars.

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