When Bad Things Happen

Our daughter had flown home unexpectedly.  She had other plans. But a gall bladder attack brought her home sooner than expected.  

The morning after the second gall bladder attack in a matter of weeks we told her she’d better come home so we could get it taken care of.  She had agreed, reluctantly giving up her plans.  My husband Geoff made the travel arrangements to get her home, and set her up with a medical appointment.

Three days after she got home tragedy struck where she had just been. Where she still would have been had it not been for a sick gall bladder.  And the tragedy resulted in the death of one of her good friends, and injuries and devastating shock for numerous other dear friends.  

That evening before I headed up to bed I gave her a hug goodnight.  She’d been on her phone a lot that day checking in with friends who were on the scene when the violence occurred.  I hugged her goodnight, and noticed how limp she felt against me.  Then I whispered to her that I felt conflicted.  

She was beginning to cry again, and didn’t say anything.  I explained that I was heartbroken for the families of those who were there that night.  And at the same time grateful to not be among them.  Grateful that through very minor circumstances our daughter just happened to not be there, where she had planned to be.

The tears came again then.  For both of us.

I found myself watching her closely those next days and weeks.  When she’d leave a room I’d pay attention.  If she didn’t come back I’d go and look for her.  Just making sure, I’d say.  Just checking.  Was she okay?  No, she wasn’t not okay.  And I knew that.

Geoff and I were both very aware of the blank expression on her face.  The grief in her eyes.  She’d smile and be present one moment, quickly excusing herself and leaving the room the next.  

And every time I stood with my arms around her I was thanking God.  For protecting her.  For getting her out of there.  That she wasn’t present that night, the night the violence happened.  

And in the tears she’d say things like, “I don’t understand why God lets these things happen?”

No. We don’t either.  We don’t understand any of it.

“Why did he have to die?  Seems like God would have wanted to keep him here helping people.”

I know.  But I do believe God welcomed him Home in that very instant that the shooting started.

“I feel so sorry for the families.  They’re just left.  Trying to get through this.”

Yes. 

There are so very many things I don’t understand.  I don’t understand why bad things happen.  Period.  And I don’t understand why violence happens.  Ever.  

But there are things that I know.  I know that for those who survived that violence there will be a long road ahead for them to move through.  I know that grief is a slow process, and the only way to do it wrong is to try to rush it. Grief will happen on its own timing, and on its own terms.  But the road will be a long one.  I know that.

And there are things that I believe.  I believe in a loving, compassionate God who is present in all things. Even when someone’s death is unexpected, or too soon.  I believe in a God who is never surprised.  Never caught off guard.  Never wondering what to do next.

Everyone in our family was heavyhearted at the devastating event that occurred.  That took the lives of several, including one of our daughter’s good friends.  We were also grateful.  Grateful that this time our family member was protected. Grateful that she wasn’t there when the violence erupted.  Grateful even for a sick gall bladder.  

 And through the processing of what had previously been unthinkable we continue to hold our daughter when the moments of grief break through.  We continue to reassure her that this is grief. Grief comes in waves and we rarely have any say in when one of those waves is going to come crashing into the beach. 

And we continue to trust in a loving God who remains sovereign in all things. Even shocking and unthinkable things. A God who is present with us. Even when bad things happen. Especially when bad things happen.