We shall overcome

I recently watched a television interview of a man who, fourteen months ago, lost his eldest daughter in a terrible accident. Six months before that, his wife died. So this eldest daughter was practically like a second mother to his youngest son.
He is a permanent deacon, so it was understandable that he talked about how faith has sustained him throughout the whole ordeal of waiting until the definitive news that his daughter’s body has been found. It is still faith in God that colors his everyday life. He said, “I believe that it is part of God’s will, though it is not always easy to understand”.
What has struck me the most, however, were not his words but his eyes. I cannot describe them. Even without saying anything, his eyes would have communicated a certain depth that has been reached only through the royal road of suffering. It wasn’t sadness I saw in those eyes, but joy tempered by the awareness of one’s fragility. It was something quiet and silent, a joy that has been tamed by pain and the experience of brokenness.
His eyes seemed to tell me, to tell us that in the midst of the most terrible pain, something good can come out; that God is faithful, though He doesn’t take away the suffering and the pain.
Here was a man who live each moment and each day with gratitude and trust that God never fails even when He seems silent. He will never fail us. We just need to trust.
And I believe him because of his eyes.