Yesterday was my granddaughter Kinslee’s first day at a new preschool. It was a necessary change but nonetheless traumatic for a 17 month old who has been with the same kids since she was 16 weeks old. The old school would send updates throughout the day via an app, with an occasional grainy picture. The new school is state-of-the-art with full time video streaming in HD.

Lauren texted us this picture of Kinslee as she prepared for the drop off. She looked presh in her jean jacket, leggings and new Toms, yet with the slightest hint of apprehension in her eyes. Lauren reported that the drop off went relatively smoothly with no tears, but Kins seemed a little puzzled and confused.

Change is difficult at any age. We resist it mightily insisting that the devil we know is better than the devil we don’t know. We get dressed up and put our best smile on but there is a nagging suspicion that this new thing might not go well.

I got to the office and scanned my email inbox, and decided to take a quick peek at how Kinslee was adjusting. I clicked on the video feed and in moments I was transported to her classroom. I quickly found her – she was standing in her classroom, with pockets of kids doing various activities, but she was by herself… alone.

She looked around the room, and from my vantage point I thought she was just taking it all in, getting her bearings – but when I zoomed in on her face, I saw that she was crying. I was viewing everything in technicolor but couldn’t soothe her with my voice, comfort her with my arms, and so I watched…and then whispered a prayer – “God, let her know that she’s loved, that she’s safe…” A teacher came over to Kinslee and did what I couldn’t do, offered a warm embrace, and I finally exhaled and closed the camera.

Often in life it feels like we’ve been dropped off in a room full of strangers to fend for ourselves. We look around and everyone seems to be happy and functioning at a high rate of normalcy but we don’t yet belong. Anxiety can turn to terror as we rapidly play out worst case scenarios in our mind – No one cares, no one is coming to rescue me. If we can find one kind soul to latch onto, we’ll be okay – we just need somebody to touch us.

Later that morning I checked back in, and found Kinslee at a small table eating a snack with the rest of her classmates.

I noticed that she had picked up a furry yellow duck and was clutching it with one hand while she ate with the other. Throughout the day I would peer in to see how she was faring, and the duck was always there. She would lift it to her face and push it into the crook of her neck to feel the warmth, and embrace the security that it offered. She ate her lunch with the duck, took her nap with the duck and never relinquished it until her auntie Amanda came to pick her up. Into the arms of the familiar she was lifted. There was no longer a need for the temporal compassion of the inanimate, when flesh and blood was near. Amanda took Kinslee home to her safe place – where she knew the space, the furniture, the toys, where the tupperware cabinet is, how to lift her arms and say “up”, and know she’ll be swooped up and vaulted into the air amid cackles of delight.

These images and life lessons stayed with me throughout the day and into the night. My heart tells me that day 2 will be better. She’ll make new friends and she’ll play until she’s exhausted, and she’ll learn and grow and explore and discover things about herself and the world that will continue to surprise her. I thought about the seemingly cruel world that we live in – the news breaks in to report that there’s been a shooting at an elementary school in California. I think about that shamed teenage boy who doesn’t understand why he has different sexual inclinations than the other boys. I think about that outcast girl who is bullied at school and goes home and cuts herself. I think about my bipolar brother who started to self medicate himself as a teenager, to escape the pain. All of them standing in a room of strangers – frightened, disoriented, disconnected – looking for, hoping for someone to love them, someone to hold them, someone to tell them they are not alone. In the absence of this, they find a version of a comforting yellow duck to cling to – unfulfilling materialism, numbing prescription drugs, alcohol abuse, promiscuous sex, a gun slowly raised to the head, or pointed at someone else…

It’s an easy out for me to look at humanity, wring my hands and say ” This country doesn’t have a ______ problem, it has a heart problem! But unless I’m talking about my heart problem, I’ve completely missed it. Until I breach the circle of the alone, the disenfranchised, the unloved, the misunderstood, the shamed… until I am willing to embrace and share with people the compassion, forgiveness, mercy, and unconditional love that has been given to me, I am as godless as the worst of us.

 I received a picture of Kinslee in a text message last night. Her smile made my heart swell and my eyes mist up. This morning I awoke with the same prayer – “let her feel safe, let her feel loved”.

I have to believe that as God watches over his divine creation, that He speaks a similar prayer over each of us – “know that you’re safe, know that you are loved”… and maybe he wants me to be the one to tell you.