Unanswered Questions

I was staring at the clock, my mind willing me to fall back into my dreams and abandon the absurd idea that I should shake myself awake and get ready for work, when I heard the first siren. It was quick and nearby. I dreamily thought to myself as I pressed the snooze, "Someone's in trouble." It was a few short minutes later when another siren, then another penetrated my sleep and beckoned me awake. There was no avoiding it now, time to get up. As my feet touched the floor, I felt the vibration of a helicopter overhead, and my heart sank. "They're not in trouble, they're hurt," I murmured to myself. Later, as I turned onto the freeway, I saw in the opposite direction many lights from rescue personnel, and I became very saddened. Over the years, living in such close proximity to one of California's major highways, I'd been witness to many tragic collisions, and this had all the unfortunate signs of yet another.

It was only a few years ago that a friend of the family had passed on that very same stretch of highway. One night, sitting on the front porch, my sister and I were deep in conversation when we were interrupted by the familiar sound of rescue sirens and helicopters. The next morning she called. It was Daniel. My brother's best friend. His tire blew while he was driving, the car spun out of control, he was thrown from the vehicle, and died. He was 19. Home from college to visit.

The whole community rallied together to support his family. There were car washes, donations, bake sales, yard sales, any type of fundraiser we could muster. Who ever thinks "I need to buy my baby life insurance"? It was at one such fundraiser that a woman drove up. She approached me, not hesitantly, but with a very sad look on her face. Daniel, like us, had grown up on the "poor" side of town. The majority of the people who'd rallied together in support had grown up in the same neighborhoods we had. This woman looked to be out of her element, and I wondered if she was lost or perhaps thought this was some sort of church function (since that was our current location and there was one going on just then). When she was only a few feet away she held out her hand, and it was a check. I looked down as I reached for it, and in the top left hand corner I saw her name and knew immediately who she was. Her son had also died that year. After battling cancer for several years he'd gone home to be with God. As I looked into her face, my heart broke. I could never adequately explain what I saw there. It was the face of a saddened and anguished mother who was burdened with the sorrow that weighs on your heart when you lose your son, but also the face of compassion for the woman she never knew who must also grieve the loss of a son, but also a look of gladness at the love support the community was offering.

I thought of her that morning as I passed the sirens and lights. I thought of her the whole day. We all grieve the loss of a loved one eventually, but the loss of your own child is an unimaginable grief that no one ever wants to experience.

What do you say to God, I wondered, in the throes of such unexplainable anguish and sorrow? How many times has something not worked out or not happened, only to be for the best? There is always some comfort in saying "God knew what He was doing." But, what do you say to God in a situation like this? What kind of rock solid, grounded faith do you have to have to make it? Then my mind pondered, What does God say to you?

As those questions rolled around my mind again and again, I thought to myself, I must find an answer...