The Light at the End of the Tunnel – Fate or Faith?
It was Thanksgiving of 1968, and the world felt darker than it ever had before. My mother was gone, and with her, a piece of each of us had been lost. She left behind her husband and six beloved daughters, ranging in age from 7 to 20. I was a sophomore in college, and my siblings and I were adrift. Each of us was struggling, facing our own emotional or behavioral challenges. But we simply lived day by day, trying to make sense of it all. As I grew older, I came to realize that it wasn’t something we could control—it was simply life’s destiny. We had no part in what had happened.
At the time, though, we blamed ourselves. So did the people around us. Somehow, they believed we were the cause of our mother’s death. It was as if they thought we were cursed, and they didn’t want to be near us. The cruelty of it all was unimaginable, so far removed from what a civilized society should be.
The only way I could cope was by trying to be invisible, keeping myself busy. When I was with my college friends, I would listen quietly, cheering them on as they shared their college adventures and romances. At home, I took over most of the household duties. Honestly, at that point, I didn’t know what else to expect from life. Just getting through each day felt like all I could manage.
I joined the church choir, and while singing brought me temporary relief, it was only much later that I realized how music had become my bridge back to peace. I loved the old hymns; I could memorize every word. The beautiful melodies often floated into my mind, offering comfort whenever I found myself in the darkness of my day. I also found security in thinking, “God is here; I will be protected.”
As the years passed, life moved forward, I graduated from college and came to America for further education. I got married and soon became a mother. But I never fully recovered from the trauma. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, as though the world was just waiting to take more from me.
In those early years, the weight of loss pressed down on me. But looking back now, I know that even in my darkest moments, there was a thread of grace guiding me. It wasn’t fate I was trusting—it was faith.
Now, as I look at my granddaughters, I see a future filled with love and possibility, not fear. I’ve learned that while loss is a part of life, so is the joy of new beginnings.
When the world felt too heavy, “In the Garden” became my refuge. The words felt like a direct conversation with God:
“He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own.”
