Sometimes the way that life around me unfolds doesn't make sense, when surprises come my way I'm not usually ready for them, though I guess that is why they are called surprises. Lately I have been thinking on how sometimes the loss of life, can be what catches one off guard the most. Nearly 9 years ago I was woken up to a phone call that changed everything for me, with the passing of Tony my only brother my eyes were opened to a new perspective on life and death, and how in many ways up until that moment I was merely surviving not really living. That loss forced me to confront the questions that in many ways could have been easily put aside before, the first question being is God truly good? If so what does that mean for the hurt and the pain that comes along the way in this life? This is still something I find myself asking at different times along the way, but more and more I'm seeing that while bad things do happen, sometimes very terrible and horrifying things, sometimes God can show us a light even in the darkest hour, having met various people who have lived through the genocides of Rwanda and the killing fields of Cambodia and yet still proclaim that God is good, has really given me a new perspective on the concept of how good our God really is, no matter what is happening around me.
A few days after Christmas I received a phone call from the World Race field support office, and was sure that the news I was about to receive was not good. All I was told was that someone in my family had passed away, but it was not known who, simply that it was not one of my parents, and that it was something that seemed to be expected. Though I had assumed it was my grand father, it was not until I called my parents awhile later to confirm that I found it was true that he was the one who passed away. That moment of loss was much different than the loss of my brother, more than anything I wished I could have been home to be with my family and celebrate the life well lived of Morris Cangemi. For he had lived 85 years on this earth, time spent serving others, working to support a family, living out the role of husband, father, grand father, great grand father, friend, and neighbor, in a way that I can look at and be inspired by and can remember that I was blessed with the time I had with him in my life. So even though every loss is felt and mourned in various ways, for me I can't help to see that though my grand father has passed on, by striving to carry on the principles of love that he showed me, living out faith daily that I saw throughout the years, and sharing memories and stories we shared together, he continues to live on, not only in me but in all his children, grand children, and great grand children alike.
Yet as much peace I found even in the midst of the loss of my grand father, sometimes that peace is much harder to find among the chaos and the shock of the death of a young child. This is where the story gets messy, this is where the faith that God is always good and faithful, is tested and questioned, and is not something that can be easily answered or understood, this is where trust in God is more crucial than ever, because I can only see what is right in front of me, I cannot see the whole story. For what is right in front of me, is a young girl being dragged out of the water, pale skin and no breath, prayers of rescue and miracles pour out of my mouth and pour out of my soul, as well as others around me who are witnessing what can only be described as chaos and desperation. In the end I prayed the prayers of life and miracles, and I was surely not alone, but this time no miracle came.
Later that night as I sat in a room next to a monk smoking a cigarette as he recited various prayers, and looked upon the body of a young girl named Shripo in a small village in the middle of Cambodia, I found myself wondering who does Christ save? Do the children come enter into a place in Heaven? Even if they grow up in a Buddhist family? If the children are welcomed into His Kingdom, then what age does He stop letting them in? What about those who never hear the name of Jesus or know that He has come as savior? The questions are sometimes hard to put into words, and certainly don't seem to have an easy answer, but that does not mean that shouldn't be asked. Though I may never get the clear answer I'm looking for, that is ok, because I was never meant to know everything. I am only one man, and I must trust that the God of the universe, the God who created every star that I saw shining much brighter in the skies of Cambodia than I ever see at home, the God who has given the very life that is mourned. I'm finding that along the way I am trusting more in God and less in my own limited mind, but I still have a long way to go, and the journey continues on each day. Right now that journey has brought me to Malaysia, and in the future it may lead me somewhere completely new, either way I'm thankful to be where I am now. Not afraid to ask questions, but also aware that sometimes I must stop and simply trust, that God is good.
