Hurting.

I took the children to a little park for a picnic the other day. We ate, played, explored, and enjoyed that we had the space all to ourselves. 

After spending some time down by the water at the far end of the park, we turned around to pack things up and I noticed another car had pulled up. Then I noticed the group it had brought. There were three boys and one girl, probably in their late teens or early twenties, all wearing dark, baggy clothing and smoking at the picnic tables without any type of smile or happy conversation among them.

I will admit that my first reaction was to hurry the children along to pack up. We were getting ready to leave anyway, but I wasn't impressed with our new company. We grabbed our blanket, bag, and remaining food, did one last trip down the slide, and were soon all buckled into the van.

As we were preparing to drive away, I glanced at their car and noticed something I didn't expect: a funeral tag hung from their rearview mirror. I looked back to the small group and suddenly I saw them with new eyes. They weren't just a group of angst--filled teenagers looking for a place to smoke and complain about jobs or college classes or the government. They were most likely a close group of friends that were all hurting together, trying to overcome their pain from a loss that affected them all. Their clothes and faces were dark because they were mourning. 

Suddenly, I wished that there was something I could have done besides shuffle my children away. I had quickly judged them and wanted some way to take it back. Although I can't change that day, I hope that I will remember it's lesson far into the future--to be kind, because we truly never know what others are experiencing.