Heart of darkness

It’s been so dark lately.

For me, the darkness was growing before the black as night, shatter-my-heart-for-days news on Friday. I know darkness is closing in when I start to avoid this space, when I try to stay away from my own words, afraid of what they’ll expose in my own dark heart.

When I can function this week, when my body and mind aren’t weighed down by the sadness that’s moved in lately, my mind wanders to Adam Lanza. It doesn’t seem like he told anyone why. By smashing his hard drive, it seems he didn’t want anyone to know. The few that knew him don’t seem to understand, either. His silence and calculated actions seem to send a message:

This was arbitrary. There is no reason.

How can we live with this?

– – –

I lit a candle on Sunday, after a weekend of crying. Everyone seems to be writing about light lately, darkness and light, and I wanted to honor those little babies who lost their lives, and their friends who survived with their innocence shattered, and for the teachers and administrators who took bullets for other people’s children. All twenty of those babies look like they’re in my son’s class, my son the 6-year-old 1st grader.

I stared hard at that candle in my dark living room. Light was at the center of my vision, but it was so small. It seemed so insignificant there, in the middle of the pressing dark. The light persisted, but the dark seemed to grow thick and heavy all around.

It was like looking into my own heart.

– – –

Some people ask Where is God in the face of such evil?

But I can’t imagine he’d be anywhere so obviously, so palpably, than he was in that school in those horrific moments.With the children. Even in death. Especially then.

And so I have to believe he’s here, in my heart, too. That even in the thickest darkness, his light is there, and the darkness cannot overcome it. I choose to believe, over and over, though I cannot see it, that light will chase out darkness. Already/not yet.

– – –

The world needs stories. We need to know plot, motive, some freaking idea of why. I suppose that’s why my story matters. I know it’s why yours does.

Telling our stories will help us all walk each other home.

How have you told your story lately?

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