Holding the Light After Sandy Hook

I wasn’t planning to write today. It’s almost Christmas... and everything is supposed to feel warm and joyful. But it doesn’t. Not this year. Not after what happened.

Yesterday, I turned on the news and the world seemed to crack open. The names of children... teachers... lives cut short by something so dark, it feels impossible to touch with words. Sandy Hook Elementary. A place that should have been safe... a place meant for learning and laughter.

It’s hard to know what to do with grief that doesn’t even belong to you. I didn’t lose a child that day... but something feels lost just the same. The world feels thinner, like something precious has been torn away. And all I can do is sit here, staring at a screen, trying to absorb the enormity of it.

I tried to pray but nothing came. Just tears... the helpless kind that feel like they’ll never stop. I kept thinking of my grandkids... of their tiny fingers wrapping around mine, their laughter echoing through the house. And the thought of those parents... the ones who will never hear their child’s laughter again... it breaks something inside me.

Writing feels pointless right now. Words feel so small. But maybe that’s why I’m here... just trying to press something onto the page before it slips away. Trying to make sense of what can’t be made sense of.

I’ve been thinking about light... how it’s always there, even when everything feels dark. How God promises He’s with us, even in the valley of the shadow of death. But believing that when the world feels so shattered... it’s hard.

I keep thinking of something I read once: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5). But tonight, the darkness feels so thick, so heavy. Maybe writing is my way of holding on to whatever light I can find. Even if it’s just a flicker.

Tonight, a prayer doesn’t feel quite right. Just this ache... this heavy, aching hope that somehow, light will find its way through the darkness.

I think that’s all I can write for now. But I hope that if I keep coming back to this little space... maybe I’ll find the words again. And maybe, just maybe... light will break through.