December 14, 2012. This is the day the shooting happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School. This is a day in which people will remember where they were when they heard about a shooting having happened at a place where kids are supposed to be safe, nurtured. A place where innocence is groomed for bright futures. And yet, without wanting to, those Angels’ light is ever so bright, radiating out to touch all of our lives.

Every day, I wake up and join the cadence of my very busy life. I have two young kids: Joe is six and is in the first grade; Katie is four and is in preschool. As of late, I’ve been working too much—spreading myself too thin. I’m trying to keep up with the demands of work, of being a wife, and of being a mom. Most nights, I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow. When I wake up, I may as well hit the “repeat” button on my alarm. It may be a different day, but it’s another day of well–orchestrated chaos.

As I move along the treadmill of my day, I tend to yell at my kids too much. I may lose my patience much too easily. I may be too busy cooking dinner, doing paperwork, laundry, cleaning, or whatever else is more “important” at the moment than the attention my kids crave. They don’t care how clean the house is or what sits in front of them at the dinner table. They just want me and my undivided attention. It’s not really that complicated for them.

Yesterday my world stopped for a moment. The treadmill paused while time kindly stood by to wait for my comprehension to catch up with it. A shooting happened at an elementary school. How could that be? Yesterday I was late getting Joe to the bus stop, and he flew out of my car without our usual kiss and hug. What if that were my last moment with him?

What if it were mine? I’m sure that is a question we all asked ourselves yesterday and in to today. What if it were a car accident or some other tragedy? Certainly, this is not the first time an innocent, young life has been lost much too prematurely. But if you’re like me, that stuff always happens to other people. It’s just too painful to think about it actually happening to me. Well, I think I can speak for many that the pain of yesterday hit much too close to home.

Ironically, yesterday was also the day of Joe’s first grade holiday concert at his school. He, and the rest of his fellow first graders, innocently sang to a room full of people who love them—oblivious to the horror of what people will inevitably remember about that day. And when I finally got to hug and kiss him, he animatedly talked about his singing and asked how he did. The room buzzed with the excitement and energy of the impending holiday, and I couldn’t help but think of the severe contrast to what those families in Newtown, Connecticut were experiencing at that same exact moment.

I’m Blessed to have my kids. They’re healthy and, for the most part, happy. When I tucked Katie into bed last night, she worriedly told me through my repeated kisses about her hangnail, and when I tucked Joe in, he half hugged my lingering embrace—excitedly talking about what the weekend has in store for him. They take my love for granted—as they should.

As for me—I’ve realized I need to “pause” more often. Life has a funny way of following our cadence. We set our own rhythm. If we run, it runs along with us. If we pause, it tends to wait.

Things always seem to get done, somehow. Laundry will always need to be done, my house will never be clean enough, and my to–do list will never be empty. My kids will not be six and four forever. In fact, Joe will be seven next month. Seven. Almost seven years ago, I was Blessed to experience the fullness the heart of a mother could only know. Since then, time seems to have been flying by ever so fast.

I don’t know why these tragedies occur. I’ve always been a believer that things happen for a reason. But this . . .  Maybe time will make things clearer, and those families at Sandy Hook will have some type of closure—peace, even. I pray for that, anyway.

As for me, today will resonate in a very different way. I will pause more often, or even stop. I owe that to those families who are unable to do the same. Last night, I was able to eat dinner with my kids and tuck them into bed. I get to be with mine for another day, and God willing, for many, many more.