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“For sale, baby shoes – never worn”

- E Hemmngway

“For sale, sheet music – never sung”

- Anonymous

There is little more intimidating than an empty page…it stares you down…it taunts you with the unspoken, “I am like your brain – BLANK!”

That, of course might be true, if the reason for the page being empty were because there is nothing to say. 

Too little – too much…

Sometimes there is a different reason for the page to lack words…sometimes it is because the thoughts are speeding at such a pace it is difficult to slow them down long enough to catch them from the sky and get them on paper…sometimes they are so heart wrenching and devastating that any attempt at the meaningful, seems trivial and empty.

And so I sit and think of Mariah, of Nathan and Kristin, of Cheryl and Enjoli and Michael and Ian and Cheri and Josh and Amanda and Ami and Ashley and a host of so many other children (now adults) with whom I was privileged to play and watch grow for 20 plus years when I co-directed a youth ministry in my church.  The campouts, the river floats, the roller coasters, the joyful – well maybe not so joyful – metabolic sounds and snorting/snoring that came from the tents of exhausted children dreaming of the coming day and the life it would bring. 

But then again…

The children slept, “…dreaming of the day and the life it would bring.”  For 20 children in a small, quiet Eastern town earlier this week, the day did, not bring life.  As their parents got them routinely ready for the day – breakfast in their tummies, books and materials gathered for classes – rush, rush, “Come on honey, let’s go we don’t want to be late for school!”  No, it would be for them…the “…last supper…” – a betrayal beyond their or anyone’s comprehension.  For 20 children and six charged with their care, the day would not bring life…

It is easy – well maybe not so easy – to say this happens all over the world everyday in some fashion or another.  It is easy to say, the ravages of the children lost in war, exceed the events of these days.  It is easy to say…

But, you see, when it is yours…when it is yours, no matter how or why or when or who…when it is yours, the rest is background noise to the sorrow and wrenching agony that twists the soul like a bayonet to the gut…

The music…

Each life is like a string in the living and exquisite instrument of the universe.  When plucked, it causes resonance with others within its harmonic range, and they in turn vibrate.  The chords struck bring a unique freshness to life that often defies one’s ability to express – they can be, as the scripture says, “…too wonderful for words…” When distinct notes are played in contextual rhythms and chords…indescribable varieties emerge.  Little draws our soul as the sound of the music and rhythm of life.

The silence…

When a string breaks or is cut, one never knows what symphony has been missed…what thrilling opus…what song unsung. 

This day we mourn not just the instruments un-played, but the parents charged with the care and cultivation of those young minds and for the teachers and staff whose lives were cut short attempting to protect those children.  We mourn those who knew and loved them…we mourn ourselves, for we too have lost the possibilities of resonance with a yet unknown mind.

This day we are yet once again reminded there are NO guarantees for the breath we breathe…the life we have been given. 

The charge…

Tell those you love that you do…take a moment to hold them in your arms, young or old…remember how connected we all are and more than ever, how much we need one another, not today – every day!

This night I will sleep and dream of the coming day and the life it will bring… 

- ted