Backpack treasures.

(written after the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings in Newtown, Conn…just days before Christmas)

It’s the simple gifts from children that change us.

A tender expression. Love so pure. Uncomplicated and free.

Little pieces of themselves to take with us. A gift. An offering.

 

I love the hidden treasures found in my children’s backpacks.

Especially this one I discovered over the weekend in a rare quiet moment alone.

As the news from the TV played in the background,

I sat on the piano bench holding Andre’s backpack in one hand, this ornament in the other.

I traced my finger around the edges where his scissors had {im}perfectly carved out a heart.

I noticed each little detail of his work and wondered about that moment…

how his hand held the pencil as he wrote each letter, I love my family so much;

how he walked over to his teachers desk and stapled a loop so it could hang on our tree.

I imagined how he tucked it away in his backpack, anxious to bring it home.

A perfect backpack treasure.

 

Oh Father, please let there be treasures

just waiting to be discovered~

in those 20 little backpacks

still hanging on the classroom walls.

Tender expressions. Love so pure.

Simple handmade hearts that might bring a blanket of warmth in the midst of the cold dark nights.

In your timing, God speed…may those parents find one more gift.

Please Father, let it be…

 

As I prayed, the Mother-tears began their battle.

Tears that ache for my own four babies and tears that ache for theirs;  

the babies who sat in little chairs in a classroom on Friday morning.

 

I hung Andre’s paper ornament on our tree and knew this was getting too thick for me, I needed out.

So I walked out the door and headed up our mountain to my hiding place… my thin place.

 

The heavier the burden and mental noise, the longer the journey up the mountain.

So I had to keep pressing deep into the woods; searching for quiet and still,

and simple.

“Thin” didn’t come easy this time.

 

As I climbed the rocky trails and the reality began to sink in, my ugly {cry} won.

…a classroom full of Spiderman lunchboxes and Hello Kitty jackets

…name tags on wrapped Christmas gifts waiting under their trees

…the giggles of innocent children counting down the days

…the mounds of fresh dirt

Oh God, not this month. Not this close. Not ever!

 

I know this world is a cruel reality for so many children and it always breaks my heart;

I’m also no stranger to death, I’ve worked in its trenches for many years.

But this kind of violence? How do we prepare our innocent children for that? 

~And so there I sat, perfectly still, just waiting~

 

I love my family so much; it played through my mind, over and over again.

His words, his creativity, his heart.

Made by my child’s own two hands.

Pure and simple. Tender. Uncomplicated.

At eight years old, it’s everything Andre has to offer.

And at thirty-seven, it’s everything I need.

 

….oh God, be near and give them strength in Newtown.

Thank you for the precious gift of children,

and thank you for their backpack treasures!