Kari Kampakis headline
I try to see the good in this world, but sometimes that’s just not possible.
For example, what benefit is served when a child passes away? Or when a freak accident disfigures someone for life? How about a diagnosis that turns a family’s world upside down? I know God has a plan, and I understand that faith means accepting life’s mysteries. Still, I can’t help but question the Man upstairs whenever a sad story crosses my radar—and I realize it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.
Several years ago, I picked up the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People after a close friend of mine experienced a heartbreaking miscarriage. After years of fertility treatments—plus one removed ovary—she’d relinquished the dream of carrying a child. And then one day she got pregnant—only to lose the baby weeks later. As her elation spiraled into heartache, I wondered about the senselessness of this event.
Why would God pour salt on an old wound? What was the point?
Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote When Bad Things Happen to Good People based on his experience as a spiritual leader and a personal journey through grief. Due to a fatal disease, he lost his son Aaron at age fourteen. After counseling countless people on why a loving God would allow pain and suffering in His universe, Kushner finally understood what it felt like to be the one asking, “Why me?”
I found his book insightful, and of all the points that resonated with me, one image stood out. Comparing the world to a tapestry, Kushner said that all we see is the backside: a random, disjointed clump of threads that form no pattern or design. Turn the tapestry around, however, and we glimpse God’s view. From this angle, we understand how arbitrary events can connect to create a larger, more beautiful picture.
Although I realize this simple analogy may not comfort anyone knee-deep in suffering, it’s a powerful reminder of how inexplicably linked we are to one another. It also illustrates how good things can emerge from tragedy, spinning new threads that allow sufferers to heal their wounds by helping others they never would’ve met otherwise.
This raises my next point: How do these people do it, how do they claw their way out of a dark abyss and pour energy into a new purpose? Consider John Walsh, who created America’s Most Wanted in response to his son Adam’s abduction and murder. Or Nancy Brinker, who started the Susan G. Komen Foundation after her sister died of breast cancer. Or Siran Stacy, who lost his wife and four of his five kids in a tragic car wreck but now shares his faith as an inspirational speaker. And then there’s Michael J. Fox, whose celebrity status has helped raise $196 million for Parkinson’s research.
When I look at these survivors, I see role models in how to handle a tragedy. Although I hope and pray I’m never, ever in their shoes, I feel a slight peace of mind watching them cope. Like many people, I often fear that I’m “due” for misfortune. After all, with four kids and many loved ones, isn’t it fathomable that some terrible circumstance could be lurking around the corner? This fear consumes me when I let it, and the only way I can quell my anxiety is by remembering God’s presence. Through Him, I can take any trial and somehow produce a by-product that leaves this world better off.
No scales of justice exist in God’s distribution of hardships. Though miracles occur every day, He won’t always intervene when we’re on our knees. I wish I could curry favor by being good, insure my family against disaster, but that’s not how it works. As we all know, no one’s immune from enrollment in the school of hard knocks.
This world is a messy, unpredictable, oftentimes ugly place. At the same time, I believe there’s an upside to the tapestry that makes sense and beauty of life’s loose ends. God’s needle is always at work, and as bewildering as His handiwork seems, my faith requires me to trust that somehow, in some way, he’s creating a masterpiece my eyes have yet to see.
