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We stood at the graveside of beautiful five-year-old Lenya Lusko. It was so unexpected, sudden, and shocking a loss.

As we stood beside our dear friends Levi, Jennie, and their three daughters, a chilly wind blew down on us, chasing the tears from my eyes and across my cheeks. Tiny specks of snow began to fall from that steely Montana sky. Their family stood bravely, singing and holding onto each other as her casket was lowered.

How surreal that it was just four years earlier Levi stood by us as we said our goodbyes at the graveside of our precious 33-year-old son, Christopher. This couple had wept and prayed and walked with our family as close as one could through four very difficult and sorrow-filled years.

I know the Scriptures; I do not have any doubt Lenya is alive and we will see her again. But all I could think at that moment was: No, no, no . . . This is so wrong, so not fair. This beautiful family, this godly couple, this child so adorable, full of energy and delightful personality, shouldn’t have to go through this.

Some things cannot be explained to satisfy grief. Amen. We must learn to live in this fallen world through difficult and frightening circumstances. Even Jesus’ followers are not exempt from all of the tragic entanglements of its fallenness.

As I write this, I’m transported back to many painful and empty places I walked in my own unexpected journey through grief. How hard are all those “firsts” that mark such a loss. The first week, the first month, the first trip to the grocery store, crying in the aisles like a baby as I passed by his favorite foods. That first Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Fourth of July . . . and for me one of the most painful: standing beside Christopher’s young wife, Brittany, as she gave birth to his daughter Lucy.

We cry out, “Why did you take them, so young, so talented, so needed, so irreplaceable? Why them . . . not me?”

We can only wait for heaven’s answer one day, and meanwhile grip tightly onto God’s promises like a drowning person—because without them, without Him, we will drown.

As there is no going back, only forward, what do we do now with this new reality? I heard the story of a certain man who, after the death of his beloved wife, went to his minister with the question, “What does God have left for me now that she is gone?” To this the minister quietly and firmly replied, “To know and love God still.” Six single-syllable words that give us the reason to go on.

Often my reading from the Daily Light is just what I need to hear, and today I read:

“This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent . . . Now acquaint yourself with Him, and be at peace . . . That you may know what is the hope of His calling.” (John 17:3, Job 22:21, Ephesians 1:18)

So I will wipe the tears away, catch my breath, look to where my anchor holds within the veil (Hebrews 6:19) and press on to know and love Him . . . still.