We Teach Them How to Hope.


Darkness. Surely the sun has shone in the past couple days…but I can’t remember it. Why? Why can’t I remember the warmth of the sun and the music of the spring birds? I swear I remember seeing sunshine on the weather report for this week. How come it is so hard to place my finger on all of the good things that have happened?

Weeks like this make me feel like the sun has forgotten me, that there is very little left in this world to hope for-to believe in. Death and destruction fill our news feeds, prayers and sorrow inundate our lives 140 characters at a time. Pictures and messages are shared and passed at the click of a button. Something about how quickly sorrow spreads and penetrates our lives today makes it feel just a little less human.

My mind trails back to another dark week, one in 1995—I was eight years old, waiting to walk to school, sitting at a neighbor’s house. We must have been watching morning cartoons…breaking news, a bomb had gone off some where far away. In the days following there was a picture on the front of our news paper that will be burned into my mind for years to come—a firefighter carrying a child. I’m sure I wept–scared, I don’t remember for certain—but I will never forget how dark that week was. That darkness didn’t last.

Fast forward four years. I was twelve years old. I don’t remember much about this week except racing home to watch TRL only to find breaking news being reported that there has been a horrific shooting at a school in Colorado. A school. Students – like me. In the days that followed this event many adults talked to us about safety and school—I remember a tension in the air, convinced I would be scared forever –this could happen to me. That dark week ended though…memories will always be with me…but we carried on.

I could easily comment on the days leading up to and following that awful day in September but despite being old enough to understand the weight and the magnitude of the horror and devastation of that event—I was old enough to talk about it, and to reflect on it, and to try my very best to wrap my almost adult minded brain around it. The two events above will be burned into my brain—to my development, those ones are different.

My apologies—this post is less about children and the great outdoors—and more just about children. We absolutely cannot protect them from these dark weeks—the weeks when someone steals away the good and the warmth–our sunshine. These weeks are sadly going to happen. Please don’t misunderstand. I think the adults in my life did everything they could to shield me from the horrors of the Oklahoma City bombing and the school shooting in Colorado. I am also lucky that the memories I have are so limited to a few disturbing images and details of the events.

As the events of this week began to unfold and the millions of statuses were filling news feeds across this world, a need to say something haunted me. But what was there say? How do we make sense of things that just don’t make sense? I had to write, and I had to figure out what my role was meant to be.

After a few days of reflection and prayer I have determined that the only thing left to do is to continue to reflect and pray. Here lies my reflection but also my worry. I worry that in the stress and the sorrow and the darkness of this week we are leaving children exposed to images and details that are too haunting for their developing minds. The images and details are haunting me—an adult.

It isn’t just about shielding children—there is more. This week nearly stripped me of my optimism. I had forgotten how to hope and was reminded that truly all is lost when the adults of this world forget this essential skill. We are responsible for teaching hope and optimism and damn it…during dark weeks like this…it isn’t easy–but some how I have to figure out how…its my job…I’m an adult.

So then we teach them how to mourn for our neighbors, and grieve for someone we’ve never met. We teach them how to pray or send positive vibes and energy, we teach them how to love. We teach them how to help people in need, we teach them how to be brave, — we do every.thing.in.our.power. to restore their optimism and the resilience because without these things moving forward is nearly impossible… We teach them how to hope, because in the end it is the hope that gets us through these dark weeks.


4 responses »

  1. Nice write… we can keep providing light in the dark. Also, I had a lot more light last week by tuning out. Not being ignorant to what was going on, but by refusing to be inundated with the destruction. See the news, but do not be the news, especially since the news rarely focuses a piece on the light!

    • Bob-Thanks for the comment and for taking the time to read. I completely agree with you. I also think we have a serious responsibility as adults to process the hard stuff, and remind our young people that the world isn’t all bad. I know I’m preaching to the choir though! Thanks again for stopping to read!

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