Late last night, my daughter came downstairs with tears & sat on my lap. I held her & asked what was wrong (she’s 15, & honestly, I thought it would be about a boy). She said:
“Our world is so messed up.”
I squeezed her tighter, brushed the hair from her face. No answers. No solutions. This daddy can’t fix anything. But I can be with her & share in the sorrow.
I spoke tentatively, slowly… “Yes, that’s right. It pretty much always has been. And we can’t change the whole world.”
But we can be the weird ones, the few who love & don’t hate—who aren’t violent & aren’t racist—who help bring people together.
She nodded in agreement & we just sat there.
I love my weird, little family.
* * *
the meek, gentle
the mocked, insulted, slandered