Last night I got an email from the headmaster at my children’s grade school. The subject was the murder of two Virginia Tech students who had relational connections with our school community. Not yet 20-years-old, this girl and boy were taken suddenly by a senseless, violent act. The email was crafted with wisdom and grief, but my spirit still ached after reading it. Why God?

First, empathy for the two families and all their friends rushed me. I was nauseated by it. I couldn’t shake it, and a part of me didn’t want to. Help them God, help them find joy again someday.

Then I went into the kids’ bedrooms. They slept and I prayed. That’s when frozen helplessness, like a trillion ice-bags, pounded me to the floor. I want this gone, now! I thought. Lift this off me, God.

Why? Because, once again, I had to resign that I’m not in control of the universe. My life, my family, justice in the world and the destiny of this human story are in the hands of a God I can’t fully understand. What I do know is that, despite how the killing of those two teenagers haunts me, I have to believe God is still good and in control.

I have to believe.