Come, Lord Jesus.
To a nation who will never be able to forget, who will be marked and changed and forever different.
To world leaders with decisions resting on their shoulders–stones thrown in an ocean of violence, the ripples of which are impossible to predict.
To first responders and aid workers who are tired and pressing through.
To the critically injured, whose bodies are working to heal physical wounds that pale in comparison to their fractured emotional reality.
To parents trying to explain evil they don’t understand themselves to children in the face of stolen innocence.
To mothers and fathers who lost a piece of themselves, who need a body to grieve over to feel like this is even real, but don’t have one.
To spouses who woke up two days ago thinking they would have a hundred tomorrows only to have them all ripped away.
To children who will grow up without a mom or dad, forever unable to escape the knowledge that we cannot count on life.
To brothers and sisters and friends who lost the only person that knew their secrets, saw their worst, and loved them anyway.
To desperate refugees, who have experienced fear like most of us have never known, whose only hope is that the terrorists who stole their lives do not scare the rest of us out of offering them a new one.
To young boys who are vulnerable, scared, looking to feel worthy and valuable, who were taught the way of violence by a war fought on their soil and are eager to show us what they learned.
To all who are paying the price for someone else’s pain.
To those hell bent on hope, who are determined to stand toe-to-toe with the worst humanity is capable of and believe that love still wins.
Bring irrational grace.