Reflecting on Children

Yesterday, I posted an anecdote about my love of grandchildren—what a vital, sweet, elevating part of my life they are. I wrote the post several days ago, scheduled it, and only read it again yesterday when it went live.

In the context of the tragedy of the elementary school shooting last week, I felt the love of my grandchildren—and really, the sweetness of ALL children—that much more poignantly. Like most of you, I have cried and cried tears of anguish for those grieving parents, their young siblings who may not yet understand death, and the grandparents whose arms will ache with emptiness. In the days since, I have followed the news stories of heroism and loss, and I've seen the sweet faces of those innocents so cruelly and senselessly taken.

It has made me all the more grateful for children, every single one of them, not just those in my life. Children are the uniting bond, the common language of possibility and purity, that we all share. I have longed to have Sophia climb on my lap all the more, or to to have Mason tell me a silly joke, or to cuddle baby Milo and squeeze his cheeks as he giggles. Children are a mirror to us all, of what we once were and that we will go on.

I pray for those reeling from loss at this time and hope that my prayers, combined with yours, might bring a tender mercy of comfort or peace to them. I pray that they might find faith in our Savior, whose birth we will mark next week, who died that we might live. I do believe that families are forever and that the sting of death, however bitter, is a temporary one and that those lost will someday know sweet reunion with those who love them so very much. Until that day when we are all reunited with loved ones who have left this earth, I plan to do my part to hug the children in my life more tightly, protect them more fiercely, and tell them that I love them each and every day. Every child deserves that.