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There is a lot of suffering going on, it seems. Old friends going through things I cannot even fathom, living Job's experience for real. Others are looking their own deaths right in the face, fighting for life each day. A brave face, to be sure. A happy face, even. But they know the stakes. And it hangs in the air: "Why?"

And I don't have an answer. I wish I did. You can't just make it OK. You can't bring back the dead. But I don't doubt God's goodness; I can't. That would be like calling flowers ugly, or hating kittens, or something insane. Still, we're left here, thinking in spite of what we know: This isn't right.

And nothing could be more correct. Our Savior himself wept, even though he was about to reverse the death that caused his tears. This isn't right. If Jesus can say it, so can we. And we should.

But not with bitter hearts. Not with doubting hearts. Rather, we should say it with groanings that believe promises, with tears that hope to be wiped away.

Because our brothers have already borne witness: Jesus has risen from the dead! This is why we're here in the first place. Their faith, hope, and love has not been in vain. We are the products of their courage. Our Blessed Mother did indeed bear spiritual children, and we are them.

God, give me the grace to suffer as well as these other brothers and sisters. Don't be ashamed of me because my cross is light, and yet I struggle to carry it.

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