Kids Like This

My brisk run this morning began and ended much later than I intended. I did set my alarm* correctly  in hopes of getting up early enough, but this morning, largely persuaded by my sleepy wife, I slept in. And once up, I occupied myself with this and that (check email, check weather, etc.) to avoid the cold air outside. After way too long, I mustered up the determination and slipped on my long spandex**, pulled on a sweatshirt, gloves, a beanie and my shoes and jogged out my back door, across my lawn and to the street behind us.

"Hi Spencer!" I shouted across the street as I came upon a familiar figure. It was Carter, Spencer's brother***, with his dog on a leash sniffing some grass. "Woops, sorry ... Carter. Have a good walk with your dog!" I turned to continue on my run. "You too --," he blurted, immediately realizing what he had said. Looking over my shoulder, I laughed with him. 

A half-mile in, I saw Mike and Joni walking out to their car. "Joni! Mike!" I cheered. I love this. I love that when I get out of my house, I am still at home in my neighborhood. I love having friends I don't have to wedge into my schedule. These are relationships that feel real, people that aren't hiding behind phones and computers and appointments and garage doors and kids. These are people against whom I brush up as we go about our lives together. I am so thankful. I quickened my stride, smiled, and began to hum to myself. The sky was grey with pink in the east and the bark on trees was bare, dark and slick. 

It was about eight thirty when I came upon the local elementary school. Little singing kids emptied out of rumbling busses and humming cars and into buzzing lines as they waited to enter the classrooms. As I watched, I couldn't help memories and images from the violent events of last Friday from mingling with the present scene before me. Kids? Like this? What would have to be going through my mind in order for me to pull out a gun and -- I can't even imagine it. I burn with anger, turn with sickness, sink with sorrow and melt with compassion as I come closer to these priceless children. Are they afraid to come to school this morning? How do the teachers feel? 

I am close now; I become aware that I am an unfamiliar man in his twenties with a black hooded sweatshirt. I cross to the far side of the street. 

Horror and tragedy has emerged and we all feel it together. Even in our neighborhoods we feel it. But together we bear it as we bear one another. As we do so, may our neighborhoods look more and more like God's Kingdom. 

*ever notice how often alarm clocks become the subject of group conversations? Everyone has a different strategy/experience and likes to talk about it. 

**I could easily have left this detail out but decided to include it to encourage men everywhere that spandex is okay. 

***I hate it when I forget a kid's name. I am an identical twin, so I know how frustrating it is to be identified incorrectly. As a kid, I rarely was called my name. Now, when someone greets me with "Brendan" (instead of "Brendan?", "Brandon", "Brennan", "Con..Bren...Conn... shoot", "Connor", "Brendanconnor", or "____"), I have a therapeutic sensation as if my soul is healing, soothed by my onw known-ness.