A Glimpse of Breathtaking Faith

Hi Friends,

It's been about a year since our good friends lost their daughter. A year since we received the shocking email. A year since I sat at the funeral with a tissue clutched in my hand. And it's been about year since I saw one of the most amazing examples of faith in the darkness that I've ever witnessed. So, today, I'd like to share with you the story of beautiful faith in the midst of heartbreaking sorrow. I want to tell you about my friend, Noreene. It happened like this . . .

I saw something beautiful today. I saw it through my tears.

Light splashed through the stained glass windows around me. People dressed in somber black lined the pews. A group of young women huddled together behind me. To the left, a young man sniffed and fought not to cry. A woman dapped her eyes. A baby wailed, and grew silent. Music dwindled.

I glanced down at the paper in my hand. And I saw her face. Sara. Bright eyes peeking over sunglasses, a mischievous half-smile, filled with the promise of tomorrow. A young face. Too young to be printed on the program for a memorial service. Too young to be the cause of mourners dressed in black. Twenty-two years old. Too young to die.

The microphone crackled as one of Sara’s friends stood up to share her memories of Sara. She sniffed and rubbed her cheeks. Her voice wavered. My throat clogged. And then, as she continued her story of Sara and their school days, I snuck a peek at Sara’s parents. They sat on the other side of the church in the front pew. They sat with their faces forward, shoulders touching, their hands clasped.

Tears filled my eyes. These are the worst days of their lives . . . I fumbled for the box of tissue beside me. To lose a daughter . . . even I, the mother of four girls, couldn’t imagine it. Or at least I didn’t want to imagine. It hurt too much. It was hard enough to sit there in the pew remembering Sara - a little girl clinging to her mother’s knees, a young teen flipping the pages in her Bible, an older teen sharing her poetry, a girl whom I’d known and prayed for almost all of her life.

Now, she was gone, and her mother, my friend, sat there, white-faced, in the front pew, listening as others came forward and shared their memories of Sara, as the music played, as the pastor spoke words of God’s love.

God’s love. It all seemed so unreal, so strange, so awful. God’s love. I couldn’t imagine that either. Not here. Not now. Not with Sara’s mom, Noreene, sitting there in that pew with her face washed in sorrow. Where was God’s love in something like this? Where was His care?

I believed in God’s love. But somehow, at that moment, it seemed as impossible as the death of a twenty-two year old girl named Sara.

And then, I witnessed something beautiful. Something that took my breath away. Something I will never forget.

As the final person stood to share memories of Sara, Noreene rose. She walked to the microphone. And she raised her hands toward heaven.

Then, that mother whose heart had been broken with the loss of her only daughter, prayed a prayer of thanksgiving. No “why’s,” no accusations, no questions of how God could have allowed such a thing to happen. Instead, with hands and eyes lifted, she thanked God for the gift of Sara’s life, she thanked him for everything Sara had taught her about God’s love and love for others, she praised him through the deepest part of her pain.

And she meant every word.

So I sat there and witnessed the beauty of faith in a beloved daughter of God. I saw what it meant to give thanks in all circumstances (1 Thessalonians 5:18), even in the hardest, most painful circumstance I could imagine.

Today, I saw a real woman of faith. And through her, I beheld the face of God. And it was the face of love.