When my newsfeed erupted this afternoon regarding the Boston Marathon, my first reaction was the same as everyone else...pure, heartbreaking horror.
Then, as a runner, it turned to anger. Runners train for years to just qualify for the Boston Marathon. And then, minutes from the finish line, dreams are shattered.
As a mom of an almost 8 year old boy, my heart broke all over again to learn about one of the victims.
Then I saw a picture of the first responders. And of the men in bomb suits doing their job. As the wife of a bomb tech, I knew that somewhere in the suburbs of Boston another wife and mom had just switched over to Survival Mode. She was gathering her own children around her and calmly explaining that Daddy was going to have to work a little later tonight. But they were going to do something fun for supper and then, maybe, they could draw Daddy a picture so he could see it when he got home. All the while, she was sending up a silent prayer. Asking God to keep her husband and his co-workers safe. And to bring them all home.