When the World Makes No Sense ...

I went to school last Friday night for a middle school Christmas concert. It's the same school where Jill marched into the kindergarten classroom with a silly book bag so many years ago without a glance over her shoulder ...

... and where Brent proudly served a Mother's Day tea with his kindergarten classmates.

On Friday night, our school's commons area was packed with parents, grandparents and friends who came to watch the concert. It was an unusual Friday night. During most Friday nights this time of year, it's the gym that's packed with cheers as high school basketball players run up and down the court. The referee's whistle blows and the ball pounds the wooden floor, and cheerleaders lead the chant for "Defense!"

But, for some reason, there was no ballgame scheduled. Instead, with a December school calendar packed to the brim, it allowed the music department a chance to squeeze in a concert.

As I walked into the school Friday night, I saw the brightly-painted Christmas backdrop and the glittered snowflakes, and I thought, "This is what a school is supposed to be about."

This is what school is supposed to be: It's about three girls in reindeer antlers. It's about the three boys in full elf regalia who couldn't make it through their trio without cracking up. It's about a diminutive, 80-pound-soaking-wet Santa who didn't need the old guy's heft to flawlessly deliver the rhymed patter during the Cool Yule program.It was about those kids who weren't the stars of the show, but who just stood on the three-tiered risers and sang and danced along.

That's what a school is supposed to be on a Friday night.

It's not supposed to be a place for a candlelight vigil, mourning the deaths of 20 innocent children and six brave educators.

It's not supposed to be that way.
It makes no sense.
It will never make sense.

Those little children likely wouldn't have sung "Away in a Manger" at their school's Christmas concert. But I'm guessing that some of them would have dressed in cardboard angel's wings or pulled on their Dad's bathrobe and become the vigilant shepherds surrounding a short, blue-robed Mary and staff-bearing Joseph as they gazed down at a baby doll Jesus in a crude manger at their church's Christmas pageants this weekend.

These words come to mind as I try to wrap my head around this tragedy:

Be near me, Lord Jesus,

I ask Thee to stay

Close by me forever,

And love me, I pray.

Bless all the dear children

In Thy tender care,

And fit us for heaven

To live with Thee there.

On Sunday at our church, two grade-school-aged boys, their parents and their cousin lit the third Advent candle. Here are some of the words they spoke:

Rejoice in the Lord always. And again I will say, rejoice.

Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

Philippians 4: 4-7

 We light a candle to help us remember that Jesus is near. The peace of God will keep us in Christ Jesus.

Prayers for Sandy Hook Elementary School ...
Prayers for Newtown, Conn. ...
Prayers for the heroes, some of whom lost their earthly lives ...
Prayers for the grieving families ...
Prayers for the survivors whose lives will never be the same ...
Prayers for the first responders and all the helpers ...
Prayers for our country ...
Prayers for the world in which Kinley is growing up ...
Prayers for us all ...

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Today, I am linked to Michelle DeRusha's Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday feature. You will be blessed to visit there and read thoughts from bloggers of faith from across the U.S. 

A Pin Drop

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Believe me, that doesn't happen in middle school choir.

It was a 6:58 minute video. Six or seven minutes isn't much time in the scheme of 60 minutes in the hour or 45 minutes in the class period. It's a grand total of 418 seconds.

But instead of the usual scuffling and whispering and undercurrent of noise, there was silence. Total silence.

There was silence until the music teacher reminded the kids they need to appreciate their lives. And he asked them to reevaluate the next time they said, "I can't."

Patrick Henry Hughes may not be big in stature. But I pray his impact is huge. He was born without eyes. His limbs don't straighten, so he's never walked. But he plays piano. He sings. He plays the trumpet. He was in the University of Louisville marching band. Yep, the marching band. (Let's just say he has a pretty amazing Dad, too.)

This is an excerpt from Patrick's book, I Am Potential: Eight Lessons on Living, Loving and Reaching Your Dreams:

On the day I was born, you might say I arrived carrying a bag full of lemons, not the kind of thing my family had in mind. I think they would have preferred oranges; they’re sweeter and have less bite. But life is what it is and you just have to keep going. You can’t change lemons into oranges, no matter how hard you try. But just because you can’t do that doesn’t mean you give up. Mom and Dad taught me you have to hang in there and learn to deal with what happens to you. And once you do, you discover that lemons are pretty cool and you can make something better out of them, like lemon meringue pie. One of my favorites.

You better believe he and his parents are expert lemonade makers. Here's the video. I hope the middle school kids remember it. I know this middle school piano accompanist will.



I had seen stories about Patrick before. But this was 6:58 minutes well spent. If you want to know more about Patrick, check out this website.