It's been silent around here, I know.
Not in the house; in the house, we're as loud as ever. Last night, the girls ran in loops around the kitchen and dining room scream-singing about one more week before Christmas is here! They chanted about the weatherman's Christmas Eve forecast which magically includes the possibility for snow. Wouldn't that be wondrous? Snow in Missouri at Christmas time?
So we're loud. But only about certain happy things. Justin and I huddle in the kitchen sifting though our thoughts on gun control and mental health and the safety of our babies in this fallen world. We quick-change the subject when a child rounds the corner. We quick-change the channel when the news comes on. We won't tell them right now, and if they find out from other avenues, well...we'll cross that sad bridge when we must.
Because this isn't something I want them to worry about. This is something we adults can worry about enough to fill miles and miles of atmosphere above our individual, reeling heads.
I want them to worry about how Santa will fit down our chimney. And how the reindeer will find their food in our late, tall grass and unraked leaves.
In the meantime, though, I hardly know what to say here. Do I fill a page with forgivable joy? Forced cheer? Outrage? Missions and calls for petitions?
That is all being done already. So I'm silent but not unthinking. God knows I'm not speechless -- I've ranted inwardly for days. But I'm going in circles here by myself. I want to share life and not be afraid. I want to tell the story about why our Christmas tree is half-decorated and there isn't a single gift wrapped under its boughs. I want to talk about Mia's loose tooth and Lauren's love of whistling. I want to show you Landon's newest hiding place. I want to prove that we're still alive and alight with love, even after being beaten down by sadness.
So I guess this is my buffer. Between the silence and the not-talking-about-it, and everything that comes next.