When Your Best May Not Be Enough.

They are the best part of my day.

They walk into school carrying their backpacks, their hopes, their dreams, their sadness.

Their faces light up the campus. Their smiles. Their hugs. They skip, they hop, they run.

I watch their eyes light up when they see a friend, a teacher, or a balloon that floats across the horizon.

I treasure their hugs as they meet me as a long lost friend that they have missed, and listen to their stories about their frogs, their daddies, their dogs and blankies.  I ache with them as they experience things in life that souls this small should not endure.

They are the best part of my world.

My job is to keep students safe and help them learn.  That's what I tell them when they visit me in my office. That's what I believe.

That's what I do.

This morning, I took my dogs to the school, as I always do. And as I walked across the campus, I thought about each and every face. The ones that come barreling down the pathway from the buses. The ones that join arms, that have bows on their hair, that smile at me shyly on their way to their rooms. The ones that are sneaking through the biopark, chasing after a friend. The ones that come early to school, and sit on the ledges in the hallway, waiting for a bell. The ones with missing teeth and big hugs that greet me as they round a corner. The ones that hold a parent's hand, and wave at me behind their mittens and scarfs.

My job is to keep them safe.

You take for granted so much in this world. And then something happens that blows that world apart. And now 20 small children that took the fact that their school was a safe place are now gone, leaving a world that is wondering what is safe anymore.

Walking among the pods this morning, I started to think about what I would do if I ever had to look a parent in the eye, and let them know I wasn't able to keep their most precious thing in the world safe.  And what I would do if I had to explain to a family that I wasn't able to  keep a teacher or staff member safe. And I started to think if I have done everything I can humanly do to make sure I never have to do that.

And wondering if my best is not enough.

But I do know this. I will walk back into school on Monday morning, and treasure the smiles, the hugs, the laughter, even the annoyance that comes as a part of a school day. I also know that I will do my best to ensure that my school is a place where children can come,  be safe, and can learn.

And my best will be enough. I pray it will be enough.