heard countless words of comfort. So many that he was numb to them. He’d heard Romans 8:28 spoken by well-meaning people, but he was not about to accept that God was going to work his daughter’s death for good. No statement provoked more anger than that one.
Adam, Victoria, and Dylan sat in the front row of the church auditorium. He looked around to see familiar faces, including Sheriff Gentry and his wife, Alison, and Caleb Holt with his wife. Holt had been the first to reach the scene and administer first aid to Emily.
Adam stared at the coffin. Coffins are for people I didn’t know or old people ready to die. Jeff Henderson had been an exception. But Jeff had made his choice. Emily hadn’t. Nine-year-olds shouldn’t die. Period.
Victoria focused straight ahead, eyes wet. Dylan leaned forward with his elbows on his legs, hands clasped in front of his chin, head down. Adam had tried once at home to talk with him, but they were too out of practice.
The room was packed with people at various degrees of grief. Some had experienced the bottomless depth of this kind of a loss. Others could only imagine. None could ease the pain of the Mitchell family’s shattered hearts. Relatives sat behind them, but not even their presence seemed to comfort. They might as well have been strangers.
Adam’s thoughts wandered as the room darkened abruptly. Images, accompanied by soft music, appeared on the huge screen. Victoria had assembled photos of Emily as a newborn at the hospital. Of six-year-old Dylan holding her carefully, afraid she might break. And now she has.
Sweet, wonderful, unbearable images of Adam walking with her on the beach, of him holding her up in a tree, carrying her on his shoulders. Photos he had taken of Emily with Victoria, planting tomatoes in the backyard, and playing with Dylan on the swing Adam had built.
Suddenly Adam became aware of the lyrics. The daughter was asking her father to help her practice dancing. “So I will dance with Cinderella while she is here in my arms . . . I don’t want to miss even one song ’cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight and she’ll be gone.”
He heard Emily’s voice: “Oh, please, Daddy, please!” I missed the song. I missed my chance to dance with her.
Still beating himself up, Adam looked back at the screen to see Emily at birthday parties and by the Christmas tree, with new dolls and playhouses, where she’d pretend she was a mom and had babies. And now she never would. And playing soccer at the Legacy Sports park and taking ballet lessons and at a piano recital. Adam felt captivated by her smile with its otherworldly innocence.
She’d asked him, just a few months ago, what heaven was like. His response was “I don’t know. The Bible says it’s a good place; I know that.” What a lame answer. He’d never even bothered to learn. Now she knew. But he still didn’t.
What was that photo on the screen? When was it taken? Her graduation from kindergarten? Wait, of course, he’d intended to come, but there was a shoplifter at Walmart. He had to go. No. He didn’t have to go. He’d chosen a bleary-eyed teenager on crack over his own daughter.
There were more events he didn’t remember—photos of parties or dinners he’d been late for. Each of them stung like a hot poker. There was the family of four on vacations, at sporting events, on the back lawn. The slides ended with a picture of the whole family in which Emily’s smile stole the show. Then a Bible verse: “Jesus called them to him, saying, ‘Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God’” (Luke 18:16).
Nice words. But, God, why would You let this happen? Why not stop that miserable drunk? Why not let him come through that intersection ten seconds earlier or ten seconds later? How am I supposed to believe You care?
Pastor Jonathan Rogers got up behind the pulpit, eyes puffy. “I won’t pretend this is easy. The Mitchell
Adam, Victoria, and Dylan sat in the front row of the church auditorium. He looked around to see familiar faces, including Sheriff Gentry and his wife, Alison, and Caleb Holt with his wife. Holt had been the first to reach the scene and administer first aid to Emily.
Adam stared at the coffin. Coffins are for people I didn’t know or old people ready to die. Jeff Henderson had been an exception. But Jeff had made his choice. Emily hadn’t. Nine-year-olds shouldn’t die. Period.
Victoria focused straight ahead, eyes wet. Dylan leaned forward with his elbows on his legs, hands clasped in front of his chin, head down. Adam had tried once at home to talk with him, but they were too out of practice.
The room was packed with people at various degrees of grief. Some had experienced the bottomless depth of this kind of a loss. Others could only imagine. None could ease the pain of the Mitchell family’s shattered hearts. Relatives sat behind them, but not even their presence seemed to comfort. They might as well have been strangers.
Adam’s thoughts wandered as the room darkened abruptly. Images, accompanied by soft music, appeared on the huge screen. Victoria had assembled photos of Emily as a newborn at the hospital. Of six-year-old Dylan holding her carefully, afraid she might break. And now she has.
Sweet, wonderful, unbearable images of Adam walking with her on the beach, of him holding her up in a tree, carrying her on his shoulders. Photos he had taken of Emily with Victoria, planting tomatoes in the backyard, and playing with Dylan on the swing Adam had built.
Suddenly Adam became aware of the lyrics. The daughter was asking her father to help her practice dancing. “So I will dance with Cinderella while she is here in my arms . . . I don’t want to miss even one song ’cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight and she’ll be gone.”
He heard Emily’s voice: “Oh, please, Daddy, please!” I missed the song. I missed my chance to dance with her.
Still beating himself up, Adam looked back at the screen to see Emily at birthday parties and by the Christmas tree, with new dolls and playhouses, where she’d pretend she was a mom and had babies. And now she never would. And playing soccer at the Legacy Sports park and taking ballet lessons and at a piano recital. Adam felt captivated by her smile with its otherworldly innocence.
She’d asked him, just a few months ago, what heaven was like. His response was “I don’t know. The Bible says it’s a good place; I know that.” What a lame answer. He’d never even bothered to learn. Now she knew. But he still didn’t.
What was that photo on the screen? When was it taken? Her graduation from kindergarten? Wait, of course, he’d intended to come, but there was a shoplifter at Walmart. He had to go. No. He didn’t have to go. He’d chosen a bleary-eyed teenager on crack over his own daughter.
There were more events he didn’t remember—photos of parties or dinners he’d been late for. Each of them stung like a hot poker. There was the family of four on vacations, at sporting events, on the back lawn. The slides ended with a picture of the whole family in which Emily’s smile stole the show. Then a Bible verse: “Jesus called them to him, saying, ‘Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God’” (Luke 18:16).
Nice words. But, God, why would You let this happen? Why not stop that miserable drunk? Why not let him come through that intersection ten seconds earlier or ten seconds later? How am I supposed to believe You care?
Pastor Jonathan Rogers got up behind the pulpit, eyes puffy. “I won’t pretend this is easy. The Mitchell
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