About this time last year, I woke up one morning with an urgency to write down our story. Specifically, the events that transpired on February 24th, 2020. I wasn’t sure why it seemed so neccessary. Was it likely that I would forget the horrific and beautiful events of that day? Probably not. Would I write a book one day? Not likely. Would this account ever be shared with others? I didn’t know. The reason was unclear, but I was sure about the task.
As I wrote, I cried. The story unfolded painfully, but quickly. I shared it with Robert and he wept as he remembered the scenes of that day. His own vantage point of the day is slightly different, but mostly the same. I have shared the story with maybe two others in the last year.
In the last two months, I have felt a compelled to share this story, but I protested. Being vulnerable is difficult. Remaining private has purpose. I needed to take time to explain why I haven’t readily shared all the events of that day. You can read those explanations here and here.
Yesterday it became clear that it was time to share this story. While I don’t know what the Lord means to do with our story and this specific narrative, I am convinced that He will use it for His glory and our eternal good. The story I’m about to share is tragic. It is hard for me to read and relive. It aches and weeps. It is filled with bad news and trauma. There isn’t a happy ending or a welcoming resolve. That will come one day with the second coming of Jesus and the new earth. But I share it with hope, because though the story God has given us may be difficult and full of suffering it also radiates His glory and majesty. Sometimes the most painful stories produce the most powerful testimonies of God’s goodness.
We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.C.S. Lewis
This is our megaphone.