Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

About Me

Feats of Strength – an Attempt at a Productive Third-life Crisis

by

I am 34… I think. I don’t have that many fingers and toes so it’s hard to accurately calculate but I’m pretty sure I’m a lot months younger than Dan, who is 35, so I will say I’m 34. Let’s just call it “early 30’s.”

The way I figger, given that I plan to live to at least a hundred years of age, that means I’m about a third of the way through my life and nowhere near a third of the way through the mental list of things I want to accomplish in my life. If you throw my increasing age and possible decrepitness into the mix, I think it would behoove me to do as many of the things on said intangible list before my fortieth birthday as possible. You know? While I can still chew my own food.

This list has been on my mind and I thought it was time I wrote it down, considering I am planning to check off one of the largest items tomorrow morning.

I am competing in a triathlon. Competing is a harsh word. I am going to complete triumphantly a sprint triathlon without injuring myself or any other person.

I’ve been training for months with my friend Stephanie, who is faster than me at swimming, faster than me at running, and who became faster than me at biking when she discovered that shifting gears actually makes a difference. Dang the do-gooder spin class friend who explained this to her!

My original goal for the tri was to finish in something better than last place. Then we looked at the finishing times for last year and my new goal is to finish the tri unscathed. We shall see.

Below is a partial list of other Feats of Strength, Skill, and Whimsy I hope to pull off in the next five and a half years:

1. Fake sky dive (I promised Dan I would never truly sky dive so this will have to suffice unless he dies before me and then the promise is void. I will wait at least one week from his funeral before suiting up and jumping out of a plane.)
2. Sing and play guitar in front of someone other than my own family members
3. Publish a book
4. Digitize and organize our family photos and videos
5. Direct a documentary film and enter it in a festival, hosted by Not My Mom
6. Complete a thorough study of the Bible with supporting documents and commentaries.
7. Scuba dive at night (happening later this summer)
8. Ride in a hot air balloon
9. Drive a car over 120 miles per hour
10. Build a piece of furniture
11. Visit Europe with Dan
12. Design and sew an article of clothing for myself without a pattern
13. Hike (at least partially) Mount Rainier
14. Visit every library in King County
15. Hike to the peak of Mount Timpanogos
16. Do an amazing act of service, something I’ll never forget
17. Teach my kids to flush the toilet

Mistakes Were Made

by

Sometimes passive voice is needed. Sometimes mistakes are made. Jars of applesauce might even be smashed on the garage floor.

We had a gaggle of delightful family members in town this past weekend for Magoo’s baptism. Yay! He decided to do it. Fun was had by all. Baptisms were performed. Memories were created.

baptism

With any big family event, there’s a certain level of stress. Never mind that our parents worked like fairy slaves, fixing fences, hauling junk out of our back yard, cooking food, and replacing shower heads, all while giving frequent gifts to the children and babysitting them so I could get my hair done and go grocery shopping.

The stress builds slowly, almost imperceptibly, until your husband asks you if you’re feeling anxious and you stretch a crazy sort of smile and say, “No. Not anxious. Just alert. I don’t want anything to go wrong.” Then you shove your fingers in your mouth and bite down hard with exaggeratedly wide eyes.

When the baptism was over, the neighborhood lunch was finished, everyone special was made to feel special, we were settling into a nice groove of lying around on the living room floor playing games on our individual electronic devices.

And then I went into the garage to get some pasta. I pulled down the plastic bin, and stuck to the bottom of it was a sticky mouse trap and stuck to the bottom of the mouse trap were two bottles of home-canned applesauce, and stuck to the bottom of the bottles of applesauce was my sanity, because as one crashed to the ground and the other dangled precariously, I lost it. It. Was. Lost.

“Dan. Dan! Hey DAN!” I called. “I need you. I really need you right now.”

He was cleaning the kitchen or rescuing an old lady from drowning or something, but he stopped and came out to the garage, where I stood frozen in place.

“Applesauce is smashed on the ground,” I said, staring at it blankly.

His look said, “So?”

Someone called from inside, “Is everything okay out there?”

“Yeah. Kathryn just smashed some applesauce on the ground.”

“I did not smash it. It was smashed. The mousetrap did it. I did not smash this apple sauce.”

“Ok.”

Awkward silence as we both looked at the broken glass and liquid fruit splatters.

Dan – “Do you need something?”

Me – “I didn’t smash the applesauce. It became smashed. Mistakes were made. I do not claim responsibility.”

Dan – “Ok.”

Me – “And can I have some paper towels?”

Dan – “There’s a roll right behind you.”

Someone else from inside – “Do you need anything out there?”

Dan – “It’s okay. Kathryn just smashed some… Applesauce was smashed. It was no one’s fault.”

Me – You know that’s right.

I didn’t need him to fix it. I just needed him to stand and stare at the sauce with me, to recognize my non-responsibility, to stand and look at me in a way that said, “I know you put a ton of planning into this weekend and acknowledge that the smashing of the applesauce by reason of a maliciously placed sticky mouse trap in no way reflects your abilities as a host, a wife, or a human being. Mistakes were made. You are a keeper. Now, why don’t you take two minutes to wipe it up, while I go back inside and finish saving that old lady from drowning or whatever I was doing?

Drops of a Podcast

by

Today I had the chance to speak with Dr. Paul Jenkins on his Live on Purpose Radio podcast. We chatted about Drops of Awesome and a little of the background behind it. He’s so delightful to speak to and I love the uplifting nature of his show.

It was my first podcast so I kept thinking I should be nervous, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t nervous before. I wasn’t nervous during. He’s just really easy to talk to. AFTER the podcast I got nervous. I had this sort of, “Oh Em Heck. What did I say?” sort of moment.

With writing, you can always go back and edit.

Speaking on someone else’s radio show? Not so much. I think I said bra about five too many times, but other than that it’s probably okay.

Here’s the link:

Live On Purpose Radio with Dr. Paul – Drops of Awesome-Sauce Style

Don’t Be Their Negative Voice

by

I’m really into giving myself a break lately. This morning there were no clean clothes. Pretty much none. Laundry has not been a priority lately as I’ve thrown myself into several home projects. I redecorated my writing space/office/junk room/guest room from a dungeon of despair into something beautiful and I rewired the lights in my kitchen because, according to YouTube, I am an electrician.

So when everyone was naked and frustrated this morning, I thought, Drops of Awesome. It’s been so long since everyone was naked and frustrated in the morning due to a laundry shortage. I’ve been getting much better at this domesticality thing. I am awesome.

They just sighed and lived. It’s true. All survived. Magoo wore soccer socks. Laylee searched for half an hour and found some cleanish pants and Dan just loved me anyway.

It’s kind of amazing. I could easily have let the experience ruin my entire day or week as I beat myself up, but I didn’t. I don’t like to listen to those voices anymore, the ones that tell me I’m a failure. They’re not productive. And they are jerks.

Here’s the problem. I may not listen to those voices in my own head but it doesn’t mean I don’t dish them out on my husband and kids.

A couple of nights ago, I was going over homework with Laylee. It was sloppy. It wasn’t her best effort. She could do so much more. I was being kind and constructive. I was trying to help her improve by pointing out every little imperfection. Halfway through the session, she got tearful and angry.

“Tell me what’s wrong, honey,” I prompted her.

She couldn’t talk. She was too upset. I told her to breathe and get back to me when she was ready. Half an hour passed and she tearfully and sincerely told me, “You are disappointed in everything I do.” She proceeded to list everything she felt she was doing to disappoint me and my heart broke a little. Tears came to my eyes.

I am not disappointed in this little girl. I am, in fact, in awe of her. So I feel like it’s my job to push her to fulfill her potential. And looking into her vulnerable, tearful face, I felt devastated. I’m not a John Gottman groupie, but I do believe in ratios, and as I thought about it, I really couldn’t think of many ways I’d built her up in the past couple of months. I would give myself at least a 5:1 negative to positive interaction ratio.

“You got ninety on this test. What happened here?” (pointing to the missed question)

“Were you paying attention?”

“This isn’t your best work.”

“Why is the milk out?”

“Whose shoes are these and why are they in the living room?”

“I’ve asked five times. Seriously. Set the table. How hard is this?”

“Your teacher says you’re reading when you’re supposed to be doing math.”

“You know better than that.”

“Oh, and I love you. Have a great day.”

“Why didn’t you brush your hair?”

I imagine that my kids’ negative inner voices sound a lot like me, nagging them.

I hugged Laylee. I apologized. I told her that if she thought I was disappointed in her, then I was not doing my job as a mother. Then I told her all the ways I was proud of her.

This was a Drop of Awesome. Just a drop. I can do more and I will. In that moment, that was the drop I could give. But, in that moment, I also decided that the next time I had the choice to correct her for something that did not matter, I’d hug her instead and offer to help.

So, the rest of the whole wide afternoon, I was not a nag. I was an encourager. I am an encourager. That’s who I am now. It’s on my radar. Am I perfect at it yet? Heck-to-the-ask-my-kids-NO.

Having a negative inner voice is super destructive. Having a negative outer voice, that’s embodied by your mom, who’s supposed to love you no matter what? Probably not helpful either.

Love Songs For Jerks

by

Yesterday, I tried to get romantic. It’s Valentine’s week and I was feeling lovish so I got out my Nashville soundtrack CD, cued it up to what is currently my favorite love song and left it in Dan’s car so he’d hear it when he headed to work in the morning.

I worried that he’d get in the car, think, This is not Jazz. Why is this not jazz? and turn it off, so I told him to listen to the song I’d cued up because it contained a special message.

When I said I love this love song, what I meanter say (channeling Hagrid here) was that every time I listen to it, I cry and I want to tell Dan to quit his stupid day job, come home and hold me. HOLD ME!

So I waited to hear back from him. Did he love the song, even though it had lyrics and a discernible melody? Did he feel the same as I, perhaps even wiping away a phantom tear of romantic ecstasy?

His responding text said, “Um… I hope you pressed the button one too many times. It was about how you can see through my lying cheating ways… :-)”

Now, I like to mess with Dan. It brings me pleasure. He plays along. I call it flirting. RE: he is my boyfriend.

There was the time I put pigs’ feet in a prominent place in our kitchen cupboard and waited to see how long it would take him to notice them.

Then there was the time I went out to his car every night for weeks and tuned his radio to the Mexican Mariachi band station at a deafening volume so that he’d enjoy turning on his car for his commute in the morning.

But this time I was sincere, and very romantical… But I did press the button one too many times. What I wanted him to hear was this:

What he got was this:

Not quite as Valentinesy. I’ll make it up to him soon. I’m making him the best, weirdest belated Valentine’s day present ever. I will keep you posted.

Tuppence Per Each Bag

by

I’ve been trying to eat well lately. In theory I’ve been trying to eat well all my life, minus college. In practice I’ve been getting progressively better for the past 5-10 years. I’ve very recently turned to a hard-core, stop-eating-anything-that-doesn’t-taste-like-a-literal-nutrient way of eating.

I’m struggling with perplexing health problems and if you have perplexing health problems, eventually you turn to examining your diet and when you examine your diet, you find that if it tastes good, there are at least ten people who live on the internet who will tell you that what you’re eating is causing your specific problem.

I don’t listen to those ten people because they obviously hate brownies.

However, last week my naturopath told me that I should consider severely limiting my grains. Also, my “random thoughts that come into my head right after I finish praying” told me I should severely limit my sugar intake.

Blech.

So I’m trying to eat like a good girl, I am. Lean meats and vegetables, baby!

But there are days when Doritos must be imbibed. So, I was having one of those days but I was trying to have it Drops-of-Awesomely, focusing on the fact that I only bought the supersized personal-sized 50% more bag, instead of the supersized FAMILY-sized 50% more bag. I planned to enjoy every morsel.

Then Wanda walked in. She had many questions, questions about what I was eating, about why she was not also eating it, about, please please, could she please eat it.

So I shared.

Begrudgingly.

If I was going to unlimit my grains, I wanted to unlimit them all the way down.

But she had cuteness on her side and I really shouldn’t have been eating that much grain, much less that much grain coated in nuclear cheese dust. I should be feeding it to my sweet, growing child person.

She started plowing through the chips faster than I would have thought possible. She’d grab one, say, “Thanks,” and leave the room. Two seconds later she’d be back for more. With increasing dog-protecting-his-bone-ish-ness, I handed them to her. Grrrr….

We made short work of the bag and I continued my quest to eat things that are green and crunchy and capable of making me feel smug and self-satisfied when I notice them hanging around like a lump in my stomach and later coming out in Dr. Oz approved luscious deposits.

But, as I went outside later to pick up my kids from the bus, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a mother lode of Doritos all over the porch and front walk.

“Look!” Wanda grinned, “I’m feeding ALL the birdies!”

It was obvious from the sheer number of slimy glowing orange chips that the birdies had absolutely zero interest, or they assumed that something the color of a construction cone was inedible, from previous painful personal experience.

So I smiled and congratulated her on her good deed-ery, sighing at all the lost cheesy goodness. And when she wasn’t looking, I threw them over the fence into the decaying bamboo forest section of my crazy-sauce back yard. I don’t know what goes on back there but we have found animal bones. And broken clay pots circa AD 1985.

Now all that’s left to do is put on all my Newsies-colored dresses and skirts in multiple layers, tease my hair like a crazy rock star homeless person and start singing on my front porch steps. “Feed the microscopic organisms in the decaying bamboo forest section of my crazy-sauce back yard. Tuppence per each bag.”

You know you’d pay money to see that. Way more fun than giving your coin to those mean old guys at the bank, right?

Sunburnt

by

After six years working with the teenage girls at church, I’ve moved on to a new job. It’s… a “little” different. The class of three-year-olds in the Mormon church are called Sunbeams and I’ve written about the experience of teaching them over at the Time Out For Women blog.

“Sunbeams are warm and lovely, vibrant and life-giving. But if you get too close, they will incinerate you.”
[read more at TOFW.com]

Drops of Thank You

by

Thank you so much to everyone who read and shared my post from two weeks ago with your family and friends, maybe enemies whose attitudes you were hoping to change. The number of people who have shared their kind words and stories with me is such a throat lump, I’m not quite sure what to say.

Many of you shared very raw and personal stories and I’ve been moved to tears daily as I’ve read your comments and emails. I’m not a huge crier. Okay. I cried at the Backstreet Boys Concert. And pretty much every time I’ve ever seen a flash mob on YouTube. And because… ballerinas. But I rarely cry over blog comments.

When I first had the Drops of Awesome flash of inspiration, I desperately needed it. I was having one of the “dark times.”

As you know if you’ve read this blog for long, and most of you haven’t, (WELCOME!) I dealt with some pretty crushing panic and anxiety disorder following the birth of my second child seven years ago. It was humbling in a way I hadn’t imagined possible. To suddenly not be able to trust your own thoughts and feelings is terrifying. I’ve found some amazing help and healing but I still deal with it off and on. It’s something I may struggle with for the rest of my life.

And that’s okay.

I’ve been tested to my limit no more or less than I’m sure you have been tested to your personal limit. We grow. We gain more empathy. I know Christ didn’t learn love and empathy by spending his days in a bubble surrounded by fluffy bunnies and marshmallow peeps. He felt and experienced pain on an incomprehensible level.

So when this flash of inspiration came, I was grateful for it. It got me through a really hard time. When I felt inspired to share it with the teenagers at church, it was for them. I felt that and it was reaffirmed when one of the girls I’d had the hardest time reaching texted me that night to say she was still thinking about our lesson. I was so grateful that inspiration had come to me that was sharable, that could make a difference to someone else as well.

At the time, I put my current fiction project aside and started writing a Drops of Awesome book, that I soon abandoned. Maybe it was just inspiration for me and Young Woman X, I thought, and I was totally cool with that. But then I wrote up a short version of my thoughts in this post. It has since been shared and reposted by everyone and his mama and I’m filled with gratitude and awe. I am not alone! WE ARE NOT ALONE. And not just in a God Loves You kind of way, but also in a Shared Human Experience kind of way which seems very immediate and tender.

All that being said, since originally posting my Drops of Awesome thoughts before Christmas, and seeing how they’ve been received, I’ve been scared to post anything else.

You see? This has never really been a religious blog, not at DaringYoungMom.com or for the years I blogged at Parenting. I am religious and it sort of oozes out sometimes, but mostly I write about silly stuff. I blog about life in all its weirdness. My next post will likely be about yogurt or photo-bombing my son’s school pictures.

You might have to wait a long time for inspiration lightning to strike again. I hope it does. If it does, I will totally share it with you. If not, read back through the comments on the Drops of Awesome post, because they are… well… awesome. In the meantime, read about my yogurt and tell me about yours and we will drip away together toward something magical.

Drops of Awesome

by

drops-of-awesome-010This post has been in my heart and on my mind for over a year now. I’ve talked about it. I’ve prayed about it. I’ve taught about it. I was waiting for the right time to post about it and now feels like that time. It’s a post about a tiny little moment that completely changed the way I see myself and others. As I think about it and act on what I learned, I find that I am changed in significant ways every single day.

It was a sunny school morning and I was walking Magoo to the bus stop. I don’t often walk him to the school bus. He’s in second grade and pretty independent and I’m usually busy getting myself and his sisters ready. I’m semi-nocturnal and I sleep later than I should most mornings.

When it’s time for school, he says goodbye and heads up the hill to the bus.

As we got half way to the bus, Magoo reached out and grabbed my hand in an uninhibited way that I knew wouldn’t happen many more times. He’s seven now but growing and how many 12-year-old boys do you see still swinging hands happily with their mommies?

I squeezed his hand, felt the rare Seattle sun on my face, and told him I loved him. I was nearly perfectly happy.

Nearly.

Just at that moment, the thought came into my mind, That’s awesome that you’re walking him to the bus stop and putting on this “mother of the year” act today. What about yesterday and the day before that? You hardly ever walk him to the bus. He’s probably holding your hand because he’s so desperate for the love and attention you haven’t been showing him.

My bubble had burst. I am a crap mom, I thought, as I looked down into his smiling face.

Then another thought came. Kathryn. What is wrong with you? You are being an awesome mom in this moment. Your child is happy. You are loving him and caring for him. He’s well fed and dressed. You’re walking to the bus stop in the early morning and you’re already wearing a bra for heck’s sake. Do not rob yourself of this moment’s joy because of what you failed to do yesterday or what you fear you might not do tomorrow.

This started me thinking of all the times I do something good while beating myself up for all the times I haven’t been perfect.

You’re worshiping in the temple? Woopty freakin do! How long has it been since you came here last? When are you likely to come again? You’re not good at this. This is a fluke.

Wow. So you cleaned the kitchen today. Want a cookie? That dirty rag has been on the counter for a week and those dishes you so righteously cleaned are from breakfast three days ago. You are embarrassing.

That was really nice of you to offer to watch your friend’s kids while she had surgery. Remember last week when you knew your neighbor was suffering from depression and you drove right by with a wave because you did not want to get sucked into the drama? You don’t really care about people. Not all the time.

How destructive are these kinds of thoughts?

As I said goodbye to Magoo and started to walk back home, my mind started to shift.

Drops of Awesome! I thought. Every time you do something good, something kind, something productive, it’s a drop in your Bucket of Awesome. You don’t lose drops for every misstep. You can only build. You can only fill.

I walked Magoo to the bus. Drop of Awesome!

I fed him fruit with breakfast. Drop of Awesome!

I told him I loved him. Drop of Awesome!

I wore a bra and brushed my teeth before schlepping it up that hill. Two Fat Drops of Awesome!

All day long I chanted these words in my head. I picked up that tootsie roll wrapper off the front porch instead of stepping over it for the eleventy hundredth time. Drop of Awesome! I unloaded one dish from the dishwasher when I walked through the kitchen on my way to the bathroom. Drop of Awesome! I texted my sad neighbor to say I was thinking about her. Drop of Awesome! I had a critical thought about one of my kids and I brushed it away and replaced it with love. Drop of Awesome!

When I started thinking about my life in terms of adding these little Drops of Awesome for every tiny act of good, I found that I was doing more and more of them because it’s a lot more fun to do good when you’re rewarded with joy, rather than being guilted about every failure in your past.

By the end of the day, I had realized something important. If I was spending time with my kids, really listening to them with attention in the moment, then I was a good listener, regardless of the 50 other times I’d brushed them off or multi-tasked while they were talking over the past week. If I was engaged in sincere prayer with my Heavenly Father, really communing with him and seeking his will, then I was a person who engages in sincere prayer, regardless of how my prayers were (or weren’t) yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.

As I added up these Drops of Awesome, I found that in those moments I actually became the person I had always wanted to be.

Have you ever said any of these things: “Well, I guess I don’t work out anymore,” because you missed one workout? Or, “I always fight with my brother. Our relationship is broken.” What about, “I’m kind of a nag to my spouse.” Or “I gossip and I always end up hurting people I love.” “I can’t stop spending money. We will never get out of debt.” “My house is always a disaster.”

These things are lies, depending on the next decision you make, the next Drop of Awesome you put in your bucket. You may have done these things or have a hard time with them but they don’t define you and you can change this very instant. You may not think you can change permanently but you can change the next choice you make. And as you change that one next tiny choice, you may think, I got this one Drop of Awesome but I may never be able to get another one again.

And that’s okay.

You made the right choice once. And in that moment you were the person you want to be and that is a triumph. For one night, you were a person who went to bed early. One morning you woke up and the first words out of your mouth were positive so you were a morning person in that moment. Bam! Drop of Awesome.

You do not need to wait three months to be who you want to be. Pick up ten things right now and say, “Drops of Awesome! I am someone who takes care of my house. That is who I am. I have proof.”

In the end, it’s really about allowing yourself to feel joy and allowing yourself to be proud of the small victories of life. This builds momentum and you want more drops in your bucket and when you don’t get as many, you pick yourself up and say, “What can I do next?”

Now, there are a whole lot of religious implications to this because, as a Christian, I believe that you are not the only one adding these Drops of Awesome to your bucket. Christ commanded us to be perfect, but through His atonement, He is with us every step of the way.

As an object lesson when I was teaching this to the teenage girls at church, I gave them each a small dropper and I put a 2-quart bowl on the table. I told them that throughout the lesson they would get the chance to put drops in the bucket for every Drop of Awesome they could think of that they’d done. I promised them that we would fill the bowl to overflowing by the end of the lesson.

With about 5 minutes to go, we had barely begun to fill the bowl and the girls were looking around at each other nervously. The promised overflow did not look likely. Were they not awesome enough?

At that point, I pulled out a large pitcher labeled ATONEMENT and poured water into the glass bowl until it was spilling out all over the table and the towel the bowl was resting on. The class went silent.

When we are in a relationship with Christ, striving as God’s sons and daughters to do His will, He pours more into our buckets than we can ever hope to imagine. He can fill us to overflowing with peace, with joy, with perfection, with Awesome. And then what do we do if our bucket is overflowing like that? Where does the Awesome go then?

I pulled out an identical bowl, twice the size of the original. Our capacity for joy and light increases. And we just keep working, one tiny drop at a time. And we don’t compare today’s drops to yesterday’s or tomorrow’s. And we live and we love and we repent when we do wrong and we allow ourselves to be glorious, beautiful, and dare I say perfect in Christ, children of God.

I believe in a God who loves us and roots for us and cheers for every Drop of Awesome we can manage. Our victories are His victories and He wants us to feel joy. Not later, when we no longer make mistakes, but right now.

I’m gonna close this uber long post out with a scripture from the Book of Mormon. I know many of you do not share my faith but I think you’ll find truth in these words:

“Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise.” (Alma 37:6)

Small and simple. Tiny drops. Go forth. Be Awesome.

dropsbook2

The Drops of Awesome: You’re-More-Awesome-Than-You-Think Journal is now available from Amazon. Collect your drops!

Also help yourself remember to recognize your small victories with a Drops of Awesome wristband.

dropsbook

Light

by

What do you do when the world seems full of darkness? Fill it with light. I had the talk with my kids today – the “bad people exist and there’s nothing we can do about them but there’s something we can do about us” talk.

I’d say it went well. I was the only one who cried and no one vomited and they’re currently asleep safe in their beds, hopefully with dreams of sugarplums in their little noggins. I wanted them to hear about Connecticut from me, not from their friends at school.

Today’s massacre makes me sad and sick and steers me toward hopeless. But after getting advice from my wise sister, I told my kids what I needed to hear. We cannot change other people. We can love them. We can pray for them. But we cannot control their decisions. We can only control our own.

So for every crazy, merciless, mentally ill terrorist who destroys life, and light, and innocence in this world, for every act of darkness, I need to do a thousand acts of light. The only way we win is by living better, by pushing back harder, by loving, and by nurturing in tiny and slightly less tiny ways and then repeating. Darkness only wins when the good people of the world stop generating light.

We will never do that.

For every bully who tears someone down, I will build up 10 people. For every guy that cuts someone off in traffic, I will let three people go ahead of me. For every senseless act of violence, I will perpetrate enough acts of love and beauty to help me start to forget the sharp pang of first hearing about it. The ache will never fully go away. But that’s okay. The ache is a reminder of how much work there is for me to do.

If I am part of the light, I need to commit every day to shine brighter, to love stronger. We can never. Ever. Give up. We can never let Sandy Hook be the world we live in. It’s not even an option.