Time stood still today as I laid my daughter down for bed. As I held her tight to my chest and knew she felt safe in my arms—I’ve done everything I can to shield her from the world’s darkness. We froze.
Because I tell her that she is always safe with me. Because I tell her she doesn’t have to be afraid. Because I pray for her every second of every day, knowing that someday, she will have to learn how dangerous and unkind this world can be.
In that moment—as I held her and she slept without fear, because she does not know the things that we do—I prayed that it lasts as long as possible, while knowing that our world may never be like this again.
Time stood still today as I watched my baby sleep. As I watched her breathe in and out and thanked God for each breath she took, crying for all the families who will never have such a moment with their babies again. Such a precious picture of innocence. Not yet corrupted by the chaos of this world. I prayed that she never will be.
Time was still in the quiet of her room. It was solace, safety, security. My children are pure light in this dark world. And tonight, there are families who’ve had their light extinguished by an unimaginable horror. I am painfully aware of the things I have that these families cannot get back.
To know this kind of peace is an exquisite gift—may I never take it for granted. May I breathe it in, let it revive me, let it prepare me to fight like hell to preserve it. Because their light is the kind that will save this weary world.
In loving memory…
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