Texas’ name is derived from “thecas,” which means friends and allies. In that state, a town named Uvalde—the “Honey Capital of the World”—is in mourning. Many of us cry with her in grief and sorrow. This place that now, and perhaps for many decades to come, will not feel safety or the sweetness of honey. That veil has been lifted; that sense of security has been obliterated.

Death is part of human reality; we all know that. But I cannot wrap my head around the senselessness of a gun-toting human wanting to kill children. “Tragic” is a gross understatement. I cannot fully understand what those children’s parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, teachers, and friends are experiencing, as family members give DNA samples to match the massacred children. God help us.

Yesterday, as the news unfolded, as the headlines became sadder, as the awareness of evil in our world again took the helm, I walked outside trying to shake off the unshakeable until I didn’t, until I moved into it. I took photos of nature, trying to anesthetize the horror, to remember our broken planets’ still existing beauty.

Many of you, like me, have children and grandchildren. You may also have nieces, nephews, or children you love regardless of biology. Some of you are teachers like Eva Mireles and Irma Garcia.

There are no words adequate. Our time here is limited, but I don’t believe our planet’s story is anywhere near God’s intention (perhaps it is, and I am naive, but I’m going to continue to believe otherwise).

As I walked and mourned with nature last night, I took photos of the beauty that I get to see whenever I want, appreciating all I have as tears flooded my eyes.

Irises that my mother gave me before she died stood tall at attention, unmoving, reverent.

Marigolds reached toward the heavens praying for all those in sorrow as the fountain seemed to sing a mourn-filled melody.

The birdhouse was still—waiting for new life to emerge and flowers overflowing in the window box bowed their heads.

Soon to lose their bright color, Azaleas awakened remembrances of our world’s life cycles as a winding path with curves and rough spots cautioned the sometimes uneven road.

The maple tree closed her eyes, now losing her once bright red leaves, awaiting a new season.

Beauty and sorrow on the same spinning orb.
Babies being born, and parents being broken at the exact moment.

May our prayers for Uvalde be heard. May God bless you and may God bless our hurting nation.
Kay