Happiness

“What has happened to Walker?” asked Susan. Connie’s friend from work had come over to sit on the porch and watch the sun set.

“What do you mean?” asked Connie.

“I saw him yesterday at the Lumber Depot,” said Susan. It’s like he’s a new man. So full of life. Don’t get me wrong. He’s always been a good guy. But lately it seems like he really enjoys his job. Yesterday I was looking for some light bulbs and he greeted me like I was his long lost friend.”

Connie laughed. “I know! I see it too. Please don’t bring my old husband back! He used to be constantly overwhelmed, like he was climbing up a steep hill or something. Everything got him down: the bills, his job, retirement… And if anything went wrong, like a car problem, or a leak in the roof, he would go into his shell and brood. It was like he took the brokenness of this world personally. And when Lizzie died, well that really send him for a loop.”

“I still see the sadness,” said Susan. “But the anger is gone. It’s hard to describe. Looking into his eyes is like looking into a deep pool. There is sorrow there but it is somehow beautiful. It’s like he has been to the very bottom and found treasure there.”

“He’s not a worry wart anymore either, said Connie.” He used to be obsessed with making plans. He wore me out with all of his projections about the future, like he thought he could control things if he planned well enough. Of course, it never worked. Every few weeks he would throw out his old calculations and come up with new ones. He still likes to plan but somehow he holds them loosely.”

“Sounds like he’s learned to trust,” said Susan.

“That’s it,” said Connie.

“But what about Lizzie,” said Susan. “That must still be hard.” 

“Of course,” said Connie. “We’ll feel that pain until the day we die. But we’ll see her again. We know that now. We no longer think of her death as a final separation. Some days we practically feel her, like she’s still here, just out of sight. We know she’s very much alive. I’m not sure exactly what the life to come will be, but I know it will be amazing. It’s like that verse in Romans. We hope for what we can’t yet see. But it’s not just wishful thinking. We actually feel the future joy even though we aren’t there yet.”

Susan shrugged. “Still, it’s just hard to understand why God let that happen. I mean, if God really loved Lizzie and had the power to stop the accident, why didn’t he?” 

“If I had the answer to that one…” said Connie. “That’s the hardest question of all. I certainly don’t have an answer. I don’t think anyone does. I only know that whatever the answer is, it doesn’t mean God doesn’t love us.”

“I’m in awe of your faith,” said Susan.”

“It hasn’t always been like this,” said Connie. “For months I felt rejected by God. I couldn’t reconcile Lizzie’s death with a God of love. There were times when I even cursed God.”

“What changed?” asked Susan. 

“The cross,” said Connie. Every time I really laid into God for not saving our only daughter, I saw Gods’ only son on the cross. It wasn’t an answer. Like I said, I don’t think anyone has an answer. But I couldn’t accuse God of not caring. In fact, I felt God’s love most deeply in those times. It was like I was sharing in God’s sorrow, and God’s love.” 

“Wow,” said Susan.

“Yeah,” said Connie. “I don’t know how, but I know that somehow God will use Lizzie’s death for good. In fact, He already is. I’ve given up trying to explain it. I focus instead of living in God’s love—for Lizzie and for me.”

“The outpouring from the community was certainly amazing,” said Susan.

“It really was,” said Connie. “I had no idea how much love there was in this little town until this happened. It has really opened our eyes.