My oldest was born the week of the Sandy Hook Massacre.

I was postpartum weepy and sleep deprived. And people kept whispering around me: No, don’t say that. Absolutely devastating. She doesn’t need to know.

Doesn’t need to know what?

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My brother panicked. My sister-in-law deflated. My husband demurred.

Are you going to tell me what the hell is happening?! Or do I have to turn on the news? Clearly the world is ending.

They told me. And I wanted to rip that coward apart. With my bare hands. Like in The Handmaid’s Tale. I was visceral motherhood. I was Old Testament God. I wanted to vomit. And it hadn’t even happened to my child.

How can I raise a child now? What’s to become of him?

I agonized and wrung my hands. Until my husband said:

We had a child not to hide him away. But to send him out into the world. Bravely.

I won’t retreat

I am leaning HARD on his words these days. While agonizing about how right-wing lawmakers plot to force women to give birth to babies 18-year-olds can then use callously for target practice.

My husband’s words center me and stop me from retreat.

It’s a mad, mad world. Don’t let them win.

Retreat means defeat. We CANNOT retreat from progress, from liberty for all, from Jesus’ directive to love your neighbor. We CANNOT retreat from the light.

We must stay grounded and fully present in our children’s lives. Embracing their warm, kind, creative spirits. Embracing the mundane trip to the pool or playing quietly with matchbox cars for the 80th time this week. Because they – AND I MEAN ALL CHILDREN – deserve to live WITHOUT FEAR.

And, dear, brave momma, just think. Your little one may save the world one day. Or he may graciously extend a hand to the downtrodden and persecuted.

I will send my boys out into the world. Come what may. Because the dark will not win.

Blessings to each of you.

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Photo credit: Trent Yarnell from Unsplash.com