Letter to the Editor: Praying for those in Connecticut

By T.S. WADE Huntington

Even days after hearing about the horrible events that unfolded in Newton, Conn., and all those precious lives that were taken, tears are close to the surface. The teacher that hid her kids, and then waited out in the open to tell the gunman they were in gym. The little boy that said, he knew Karate and would lead them to safety. The janitor that frantically ran, no thought to his own life, throughout the school alerting all classrooms to lock it up and hide. So many others. And then, this morning, pictures and bios of many of those little angels that were lost.
It infuriates me. It makes me want to run to them. To shield them from the intrusive media and curious observers. To protect them and just keep them in a little bubble for awhile. I want to cook warm meals for the brokenhearted, to hold them and to listen. I want to curl up on the couch with them, and have them tell me about their loved ones. I want to hear about their lives, and about all the things that made each one special.
I want to run their errands for them and shield them from the onslaught of well meaning comments and conversations. I want to pray with them, and let them know that God is very much aware of them and their overwhelming, suffocating grief.
I want to tear down that crime scene and build a beautiful park with 26 trees, 13 on each side. Standing watch over a new, happy place, those 26 trees will become large and strong. They will offer relief, sanctuary.
I want those broken hearts to feel peace. I want them to know how many people care and are praying for them. I want them to know they have literal angels in heaven, finding rest and comfort in the arms of a tender and loving Savior. That they too will come to feel that comfort.
It is my heartfelt prayer, with every fiber of my being, that those left behind find solace. That, if it’s in any way possible, I might carry their load for just a bit, that they might be able to come up for air and take a breath. A moment of reprieve. I might not be able to do all I would like. But, I can at very least, do that.