Broken-hearted and bewildered, she stares at the sky, at the stars she’s seen a thousand times before, the very stars that have constantly reassured her of an other-worldly Presence that has always been for her, and she wonders… Why?
Why did this happen to me?
What did I do to deserve this?
How could you let something like this happen?
What’s wrong with me?
What’s wrong with You?
And the stars twinkle, like they’ve always done, silently.
{——-}
My past year can be defined in three words: A Devastating Tragedy. Currently, I’m not prepared to publicly elaborate on the specifics of my Devastating Year, but those close to me know that I speak honestly when I say I’ve been through hell. (And to those people who know and who might comment here or elsewhere, please retain my confidence in you and refrain from divulging any information until I’m able to speak of it more publicly).
I apologize for the lack of details, but the specifics are not what I care to talk about today. I’d rather ruminate on the perpetual question asked after experiencing tragedy.
As a child, and even into early adulthood, I never thought my life was hard. I never felt like the world was unjust or out to get me. I never thought a soul-searing tragedy would ever strike me. In some ways I felt invincible, whether that was naivete, faith, or just childlike belief in the goodness of the world.
But as sure as death and taxes, tragedy comes for us all. My first brush with tragedy (death’s first cousin) occurred when I was only eight. My grandfather died of a brain tumor. An incredible man of God, the patriarch of my family, was taken away from us, before I ever really, truly, got to know him. In some ways it defined my passage from childhood to adolescence. Life became much more precious to me. As a result of my grandfather’s example and questions I had after his death, I became a Christian.
The second great tragedy of my life occurred over the last year. It has marked my delayed passage from adolescence to adulthood. As a result, I have come to know myself and my dreams much better than I ever did before. I’ve come to experience my relationship with Jesus in a very real way that I never had before, despite being a lifelong church-goer.
In both of these situations, as countless millions have done before when tragedy strikes, I’ve asked Why? a thousand times. My mind yearns for a simple answer, whether it’s to help assuage my guilt, or “justify the ways of God to man,” or simply so I can stop asking the incessant and eternally annoying question of Why?
And in my trying times, I hear from friends that are going through their own Devastating Years, and it makes me weep. Friends that believe in a just and loving God. Friends that don’t know how they got to where they are. Friends that also want the answer to Why?
And it’s not enough to proof-text the Bible to them, or myself. Just read through Job. It turned out well for him. Sure, that can be comforting in some ways, but it’s not the real answer we’re looking for. That’s a story, and it’s somewhat like my story, except the only difference is, I don’t know how my story ends.
And, to me, what makes a Devastating Year so devastating is that there is no answer to the question Why? It’s possible that many years from now one might be able to look back and see “reasons,” but even those “reasons” won’t provide an all encompassing answer. There will be no all encompassing answer until we experience the final tragedy.
Yet, how I believe, it’s the final tragedy that brings us into true reality.
To the place where stars sing.
Editors have to see what most of us don’t. There may be a gem of a good idea hidden beneath a mountain of prose. Or, there may be mellifluous words that are all sound and no fury. Either way, it’s the editor’s job to point the errant writer to the path of writeousness. (Yes, I know. I can hear the groans from here). 
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