The mail came Tuesday. I’m not sure why it surprised me, but it did.
I’m always shocked when the mail arrives after a tragedy. I want it to stop. Maybe as an act of reverence. Maybe because I want more time to mourn. The mail reminds me life moves fast, too fast.
I know as months pass other horrific stories will become newsworthy, and even if we swear we will not forget, we do.
I lived in Littleton, Colorado when the Columbine tragedy occurred. I remember sitting less than a quarter of a mile away listening to updates on a radio and screaming sirens. I witnessed the world swoop in to hold Littleton. Eventually, I saw the cameras shut off and turn away.
When we think of serving others after a tragedy, we tend to think of physical ways to help, and that’s good. Often money is a need and Americans reach deep and give, but today, I want to challenge you to pick a name of one of the many impacted by the explosions at the Boston Marathon, and I ask you to pray.
Word lover. Book devourer. Music addict. Amy is a Northern girl who found herself living in the South. She drinks sweet tea, turns her nose up at okra, and attempts to tell her daughters “yella” isn’t a color.