There are many times throughout the last eleven years when I have sworn to never be in a car with my children again. It started with my oldest, who cried every second he spent even near a car seat, and went through Emma, who liked to spend car trips bursting ear drums with her screaming.
Through these years, I have dealt with kids who won't keep a seat belt on, who lean out windows and tell policemen I'm buying drugs, who reach up from the back seat and pull siblings' hair right out of their heads. And the screaming. Oh, the screaming.
But let me tell you about today. Today, I was early in the line to get my kids from school.
Today, as I sat waiting in the street, there was a police truck parked in the grass at the front of the school.
Today, the principle was standing in the front of the school, speaking to each daycare bus driver.
Today, as I saw the teacher who announces that my children should come outside, the teacher who always had a smile for everybody, she wouldn't meet my eyes.
Today, as I rounded the corner of the school, instead of the usual sight of five little people joyfully bounding to my car, I saw a policeman guarding the door.
Today, parents rolled down their windows and thanked him for being there.
Today, my little bundles of glee were led by the hand to my car, and passed to me by a somber but kind teacher, who understood that it was not a day for discussing homework or missing library books.
Today, as my children piled in the car on top of each other, shouting the news of the day all at once, my eyes welled up with tears.
Today, I stopped halfway though to the loop and twisted around to the back seat to give them each a hug.
Today, while they fought over space in the seat, pulled hair, and complained about homework, I thanked God for every sound they made.
Today, I drove a little more slowly, savoring this time of closeness, forced by the confines of the car.
Today, choked on tears every time one of my babies said "Mommy."
Today, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that my kids are coming home for the weekend.
Today, I am on my knees in grief for the mommies who dropped their babies off this morning, only to never see them again.
Today, housework and homework and trifles of the week fall away, dimmed by the brightly shining importance of this moment now.
Today, I pray for those students who have lived through an ordeal that no child should ever be able to imagine, let alone experience.
Today, I hope for comfort for the teachers, the emergency crews, the support staff, and every mom, dad, brother, and sister in Newtown, CT.
Today is not a day for more division in America. Today is a day for unity and purpose.
Today, I will wipe tears from eyes with every glance at my children, and I am aware that each moment with them is dear.
Today, I wish I could wrap my arms around the parents who lost their precious kindergarteners, and whose children spent their school day filled with terror. And I wish that it would help.
Today, I know I join thousands of other parents as I hug my kids a little tighter, whisper a prayer for their protection, and face the reality that we just never know.
Today, I have not lost hope, but I pray for mercy.
Today is a different story, one that, to some degree, will change all the stories to come.
Lord, have mercy on us all.
