It really is hard at times to understand this world. There are the big tragedies like the one that has been weighing on our hearts so hard these last few days. And then there are others, smaller in scope, less devastating in nature, but that still weigh on us and bring us down and steer us from the paths we want to be on.
And people always ask why. Why is there cancer and heartbreak and rejection and murder? Why is there pain that is so horrible as to almost be unspeakable? Why do some hearts turn so black and so bleak?
Those questions always weigh on me when there is some large-scale disaster. Why does it happen?
But with this one, with the murder of all of those innocent babies, I didn’t even ask myself those questions. I didn’t ask because there couldn’t possibly be an answer.
I keep wanting to write about this event, either on here or personally to those I sometimes confide in, and yet I stop myself because it’s all just so dark and so heartbreaking and to write about the sadness seems as if it is just perpetuating the heartbreak. And I want to be a force for good rather than sorrow.
After I ask myself the typical post-disaster questions, I often find my only hope in my own little world. I find a renewed purpose. I realize that I can’t make most of this world any less ugly. I can’t stop tragedies. I can’t cure cancer. I can’t take away the pain of a suffering world. But I can make my little corner a little better.
This idea that I usually find such solace in has been hard to connect to this time around. I think the wounds are still just too open and raw. After all, the vast majority of us were spared direct heartbreak and loss on Friday, but I think via the nature of our world and communications, we have all experienced a real loss and in some ways almost a real trauma. I still find myself trying to shut off my brain every time I hug one of the girls because the directions my thoughts go in (what if this is the last time) are just too overwhelming.
But regardless of whether or not I am able to directly and powerfully feel the hope at this moment, that doesn’t mean I can’t act on it. I keep reading about people vowing to do 26 random acts of kindness in honor of all of those lost. And nothing seems more healing to me. Imagine if even just a handful of people committed to this, how different the world might be if even just for a few moments.
So if you feel your heart pulled in that direction, I would urge you to consider doing 26 random acts of kindness for others. Mine won’t be large — there’s not a whole lot I can affect when my time is consumed with sippy cups and diapers. But big or small, kindness counts, and the hearts touched will be ours as well.
I can’t force my heart to heal any more quickly than it wants to, but I’m hoping I can perhaps bring about some healing to others through kindness and love. What better way to memorialize all those lost than by making the world a better place in their honor?