The end of a rough night


The lonely road away from home.
My son (3 1/2 yrs.): Can’t we find a way to get along?
My daughter (16 mo.): I do it my own ‘elf!

Last night was rough. If it wasn’t the dog breathing in my face,or the pain radiating everywhere, it was the dream of being a small child hunted down by assassins. The crowd surrounding me was so fearful, even the lone assassin who didn’t believe I should die was afraid. It meant that those few who were focused on the death of one small child had no resistance.

A crowd capable of dissolving their fears, of overpowering the few who were intent on such an atrocity, simply parted to make way.

Was I afraid? Up until that moment I was running for my life. Then, as I looked up into the eyes of the coward who would gain satisfaction from killing a small child, I knew. I couldn’t die. He was already dead. My life was just beginning.

I said calmly, without an ounce of fear:

We have allowed our differences to define us, not our commonalities.

We have allowed our fears to divide us, not our resolve to unite us.


That was 8:42am, after roughly 5 hours of sleep. Oddly, I’m exhausted but at peace.