Boston

This week the finish line of the Boston Marathon was bombed.  This unfortunately brought us once again to the difficult task of talking to the boys about tragedies that are perpetrated by evil, cruel, selfish human beings.  Contemplating the world we live in, I realize that in the United States we are relatively sheltered from this kind of atrocity, that there are places people live where this could happen any time and happens all the time.  I suppose there is a part of me that knows we are fortunate that this is a discussion we actually get to have every few months, rather than no discussion at all because it's just part of living.  But that knowledge does not make it easier to talk about these things with 12, 10 and 8 year-old-boys who still see the world through the first-world-living rose-colored glasses of youthful innocence. 

Monday afternoon, we found ourselves again sitting on the couches in the living room with Zac, Ben and Josh, our hearts pounding with the news we had to deliver, the third time we've had to talk to the boys about something like this since last summer's shooting in the theater in Aurora.  It hurts so much every time.  It makes me sick to my stomach.  We spend so much of their young lives telling our children that we will keep them safe, that there is no such things as monsters...and then things like this happen and I realize that those things I have diligently taught them are only truth in the effort we promise them, not real truth.

We have a formula for our discussion.  It's horribleawfultragic that we have done this so much that we have to have a formula for our discussion.

We sit them down and start with the facts of what happened.  In essence, as we talk about bombings or shootings, death and heartbreak we are telling them that there are indeed monsters.  And there are things we cannot keep them safe from.  This is the reality of life, that they would have discovered sooner or later, as we all do as we grow older.  We were just hoping for later.  Luke and Tommy are still young enough that they are spared these conversations.  However, knowing the older boys will more than likely hear stories, embellished or half-told, from their peers at school, we want them to know what really happened and open the door to discussion and the sharing of feelings, so we give them the facts as gently as possible and then let them talk and ask questions.

When that part is over, and their young eyes are full of confusion mingled with fear, we discuss the events in light of our faith.  We talk to them about how bad things can still happen even when we have a good Heavenly Father.  We discuss how people can use their freedom of agency to commit acts of cruelty and atrocity.  We tell them that as much as God loves us, He will not force us or others to do what is right.  We talk about how freedom of choice was a gift to us, but some can use that gift towards evil ends that harm others.  The blessing is that we can still find peace in His spirit as we turn to Him with our fears, pain and worries.

To finish up, we always make sure to shed light on the dark parts of humanity.  We tell them the stories of the heroes.  Thank God there are always stories of heroes.  People who braved the unknown danger of the scene to help.  Neighbors who stepped in to offer aid and assistance.  First responders who put aside their own safety to jump into danger.  Every day, average folks who shook off their own fear and confusion and ran in the direction of the terror because they knew they were needed.

It's amazing how this helps.  It's not just the boys that receive comfort from seeing the abundant goodness that comes in reaction to the worst darkness of humanity.  I do too.  I am so grateful we always have these stories to end the discussion with.  By the time we are wrapping up our chat, the boys seem more at ease, more confident that the world we live in, although filled with unknowns and evil, has vastly more light than darkness.  MORE light than darkness.

I liked what facebooker and comedian Patton Oswalt said about this, "This is a giant planet and we're lucky to live on it but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in awhile, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they're pointed towards darkness.  But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evil doers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak....So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, 'The good outnumber you, and we always will.'"

I just finished the book Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, who lived as a prisoner for years in Nazi concentration camps during WWII; a living witness to the deepest darkness found in human nature. Yet after release he chose to forgive, to let go, to hope for better among his fellow humans, and because of that hope he SAW the better too.  At the end of the book he says, "The world is in a bad state, but everything will become still worse unless each of us does his best."  In these tragedies, I am grateful I can witness so many people doing their best, and can point out "the best" to my boys as an optimistic sign of hope and peace for a world we love.