I picked up my kids from school today and they were ninety-to-nothing chatting about a classroom scandal. We get home, break out the juice boxes, pop popcorn, and the story is hitting my ears from what feels like ten sides.
Apparently, someone stole my son’s pencil.
My kids are up in arms, hand-in-hand standing together about this offense. He stole it, then he lied. “Why would he steal my pencil, I would have given him one?” they complain. They say, “Mom, he totally knew what he was doing. And then he lied when he got caught.” We have a ten minute discussion about stealing and being nice and just “dropping it”, and they can’t let it go until I tell them enough is enough. They have piano to practice, our Christmas recital is in a month, and we leave again in an hour.
I turn on the television and in the 20 minutes that it took me to go from home to school, there are over 40 people murdered in a coordinated act of terror. There is a concert hall full of hostages being killed one by one. Lord, help them…
Their lives completely and sadly stolen—I want to go back to talking about pencils.
I want to talk about juice boxes, and popcorn, and nine-year-old silly offenses that only matter in grade school. I want to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my eyes, and come back out when my children are old and gray and we are all safe. I want to lock my doors and tell my kids that “Yes, I know mommy said she didn’t want to home school you, but now she’s changed her mind because we’re not going anywhere…ever again.” I want to draw the shades and tell the world to go on and keep being crazy that we will just be right here waiting on Jesus. We will tuck ourselves away and we will read our Bibles and we will say, “Come Lord Jesus” and put our fingers in our ears and life will be normal.
But, it won’t be.
It won’t be because normal has changed.
Normal’s ship has sailed.
And the fight, America, is already here on our doorstep. It’s too late to care about childish things, because these are adult matters. We have weak American leadership that has opened up the gates of our country to anybody and everybody, either by complacency or by choice. We cannot coast to safety anymore. We cannot worry about the little things anymore. We have problems, as a country, and as a world.
Let’s pray for Paris and all the Paris’s that I’m afraid are yet to come. And please, to our current American leadership—stand up and stop these people. Do more than send 50 people to help. Close our borders. Build a wall. Get rid of sanctuary cities. Do whatever it takes to keep us safe. This is getting out of control, and it’s so, very, very…sad.
The television is on, my popcorn bag has spilled all of its’ contents out onto the floor, along with many tears as my son sits down at the piano. And just like them after school, I pray that France and America and all other great and responsible nations will not let this offense go. We can’t let this go on anymore, because enough is enough. He puts his fingers to the keys and one broken note at a time he plays:
“Silent Night, Holy Night,
All is Calm, All is bright…”
But, all isn’t calm, and the city of light is no longer bright. And we bow our heads and fold our hands and we pray, “Come Lord Jesus, because those poor souls have now been silenced forever.”