This past week has been a muddy rainbow of sorts. It's been gloriously bright and beautiful as our family has cherished so many small yet loving and peaceful Holiday moments together. Yet dark colors muddle and confuse our joy as we grieve and pray for the families of Sandy Hook who lost 26 people, mostly children, in an act of evil violence at the elementary school.
Every mother I know is rocked to her very core. We are hugging our kids tighter, longer, and whispering even more prayers over their precious heads as we send them out the door each morning to the bus that drives them away from our hovering protection and into a scary world.
Cliff and I wanted to be the ones to tell our children about this tragedy before they heard misinformation anywhere else. We wanted to give our slant first by giving the basic information then allowing them to process this in their own time, asking questions then allowing us to answer to the best of our abilities.
Evan, our middle and most introspective son, ponders long, feels deeply and asks the impossible questions that cause me to feel inadequate and nervous. I keep God on prayer speed dial as I desperately seek immediate wisdom, discernment, and the right words for his questions. Answers that are honest. Answers that causes him to think and reason. Answers that always lead to God's amazing love and sovereinty. Answers of resolution, appropriate for an 11 year old on life's challenging and confusing subjects. Pain. Death. Loss. Abuse. Betrayal. Kidnappings. Animal cruelty. Starvation. Sex. Love. Relationships. Eternity. Dreams.
Evan. "Mom, I'm really bothered by the shootings."
Me. "I know, baby. Me too. My heart hurts for all the people in that entire community."
Evan. "Mom, what do I do if someone breaks into our school and starts shooting?"
Me. "You hide! You find the safest place you can and hide!"
Evan. "But mom, what about the other people? What about my friends?"
Crap. Fervent prayer in order. Take a deep breath and think this one through. "Evan, you get yourself to safety first then you look around quickly and see who you can help."
"Even if it means something happening to me, I want to help others since I know where I'm going when I die and I'd see you soon anyway," he says with deep emotion and throws in a casual shoulder shrug, just to reassure me. Or maybe himself. As if it's not really a big deal.
Oh, Dear Lord.
Me. "I would be devastated to my core if anything happened to you because I love you so much. But you are right, I would see you in Heaven someday. There's no question." I nodded as my throat swelled shut with emotion and my eyes flooded with tears that threatened to betray my feigned resolve. His heart was so brave. A lion heart.
We stood still and stared at each other for a few intense moments, a thousand unspoken words, thoughts, and emotions flooding us both. My heart filled with grief and loss yet peace and love. A muddy rainbow of sorts. I held him for awhile. It wasn't long enough.
The numerous conversations I've had with the boys about life and death flooded my mind. I've urged them to live life with everything they have and everything they are as our days are numbered. We're all terminal. I've reassured them that our eternity is secure because of Jesus alone, not our working or striving. I've passionately exhorted them for prioritizing "stuff" when stuff isn't eternal or important but our relationships are. I've compassionately guided them through their friend's loss of loved ones as they wondered how quickly their friend's hearts would find joy again.
As a mother, just the thought of losing one of my own is enough to bring anguish to my soul and knock the wind out of me. I have to remember to breathe as my heart wrestles with my mind. I'm haunted by dark moments at night where I grieve the mere suggestion of tragedy. I struggle to comprehend this reality for other parents around the world who's children die due to health issues, car accidents, or in sick acts of evil. My heart aches yet my mind reassures me of my reality; that I do have my children and I need to savor every tiny moment with them.
This year I've added the following request to the morning prayers I breathe into the boys' sweet smelling hair before they run out to the bus "...Lord, give them the wisdom to know right choices to make and the courage to follow through." I didn't think of this prayer on my own. I stole it from Andy Stanley's and will ask his forgiveness in Heaven.
Everything in me wants to scream, "No Evan, you hide yourself!" and try to instill the "every man for himself" popular philosophy but this has never been our family philosophy. It's not who we are. It would be like training a dog to be a cat. What about the wisdom and courage I pray over them?
I've always told the boys to love sacrificially. But to sacrifice one's life? It's easier for me to imagine a scenario where I'm brave and give my life. Or a soldier who is trained for situations and bravely give his life for our freedom. But my children? My heart rages against this type of sacrificial love yet I know this is who we are. I fight against my inner coward as I bravely instill that the Adairs are leaders. The Adairs love people. The Adairs are brave, strong, and true, yet loving, kind, and gracious. This is a lot for their little minds to process but I tell them anyway to set the expectation even as I struggle to define sacrificial love in my own life.
I want my boys to be heroes, to be young men who wouldn't hesitate to give their life to spare another. I just secretly hope it doesn't ever come down to that.
My prayers are with you, Sandy Hook.
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