Let me send you a card

This little card reads:

This is just a little light in the dark.

I'm sending you so much care.

Last night, Memorial Day night, I had a pretty extensive to-do list (really, more of a must-do list, if I'm being honest), but I tucked my computer away, grabbed a favorite pen and a beautiful new box of cards and wrote notes to some education friends who are hurting right now. These incredible people are overwhelmed, and our conversations and texts make it clear to me that leading in, teaching in, and advocating for our schools is becoming impossibly hard. Kids with anger, trauma, dysregulation. Adults (parents, teachers) who are also struggling with emotional constancy, with resilience, in the face of the traumas, emotions, challenges they are navigating. Systems that don't provide enough support. Terrible news from the federal government that stokes uncertainty and fear. OK, I'm sure, dear readers, you know all of this.

But an action of support: I lit a candle. I thought of the person. I picked a card. I took a breath. And then wrote them a note from my heart, just letting them know I care, this is hard, they are loved. 

Then I actually addressed and stamped them, and walked to the mail box, too. YES, three things that I often don't follow through on. But I got it done last night. Card-writing is a goal I've mentioned here several times. I can't hug these folks tonight; can't make them a casserole or swing by with banana bread. But I can name that the work is hard, and that I see them, doing this hard work, through the aching and tears, and panic and anxiety, too.

Here is a card. I love you, and that is a little light in the dark for today.