I can't tell you what a privilege it has been to call her my own. I know we are all proud of our kids and happy to see them succeed so if you would could you humor me today and let me show her off?
Malaina is 17 and is starting to seriously look at colleges and careers. One of the things Malaina was born with was a pen in her hand. She loves to write. Story after story she has written throughout her childhood. When she was 13 she wrote a little play scripted for her cousins to act out at a Summer Camp. I am sad I can't find it. :(
In the wake of last weeks tragedies she wrote her feelings about the shooting and the Innocence of Life lost. I asked her if she would want to share it on here.
She said yes.
So here she is.
Memorial of Twenty-Eight
The black type-simple enough-carries great power against the white page. It cuts into the heart of every American. It brings tears and frustration, anger and hopelessness. The United States of America bands into one group ready to fight.
But who are we fighting?
Millions of comments have been posted on twitter and facebook, millions of angry conversations have taken place. But how could we have known about the impending evil? What person could have stopped the twenty-eight fatal bullets? And what can we do now? People are donating, sending letters, trying to change laws. But none of us can rewrite the past. We cannot spark those victims with the life that they had twelve hours ago. We cannot stop the coward who snuffed out these vibrant lives.
The death of children. It could’ve been your sister, your nephew, your grandchild. That child laying in his own blood could’ve been the little boy you babysit or the seven year-old girl next door who is always on the trampoline, perfecting her flip. When someone asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up, they had the confident answers that children do, untainted by the fears and doubts of tomorrow.
Their eyes shown as they chattered on about becoming astronauts, firemen. She wanted to make clothes, and told you about every single drawing in her notebook. He wanted to test video games-because ‘That would be the funnest job in the world, right?’ The boy and the girl who grew up next to each other would never get married, never start a family of their own. None of them had the chance to make their own decisions, go to college, become successful and fulfilled. They never got to play a game of basketball, never again watched their big brother’s choir concert.
A million little moments were stolen from these precious children, and all we could do was sit back and watch. The terrified children of the school were sobbing, whispering “I just want Christmas...I just want Christmas.”
In memorial to the children who were executed in a place of safety, and to the adults who sacrificed their own lives to protect them, let us be changed. Let what happened hurt you and make you angry. This is personal. America must stand up together, ready to help, ready to make more little moments possible for the children who are left.
And to those little children who are running into the arms of Jesus right now, let me say that you will be missed. The impact you would’ve had on the world is unknown. But your short lives were a gift, and I can’t wait to meet you some day. I want to shake your hand and apologize for the world that you found yourself in those moments before you were so brutally murdered.
May you forever rest in Peace, Joy, and Love.
Just one other note... She held her first piano recital in our living room this week.
8 of her 9 students performed. It has been so neat to see her start with her sister Sophia a year ago and grow her business. She loves her students and talks positive about each one. I love to hear her interact with them and patiently show them how to play.
So here is her first little group of Piano Players.