By Sharayah Colter
May 9, 2023
Like so many other people, my mind continues to think of the injured kindergarten student who is the only surviving member of his family after a gunman opened fire at an outlet mall in Allen, Texas.
As a mother of a kindergartener, the thought of my son being left in this world without me or his dad or his little sister takes my breath away. And yet, that is not an imaginary nightmare for the precious 6-year-old boy who just endured the most tragic day of his life—it is a very real nightmare.
Life is a vapor—so fragile and so brief. In the space of a heartbeat, this little boy’s entire world changed forever (James 4:14).
In times of such deep tragedy—which do seem to be multiplying at a rapid pace, just like Scripture says they will as the day of Christ’s return draws closer—I am reminded that God’s Word says to us that although we grieve, we do not grieve as those without hope (Mt. 24:13; 1 Thess. 4:13).
When human words fall flat or simply do not come at all—as is the case in this profoundly sorrowful week—I am all the more grateful for the God-breathed words in Scripture that offer to comfort us and to set a guard around our aching hearts (2 Tim. 3:16; Phil. 4:7).
Thank You, God, for offering the “peace that passes all understanding” (Phil. 4:7).
Thank You for inviting us to cast our cares on You, because You care for us (1 Peter 5:7).
Thank You for promising to make all things work together for the good of those who love You and are called according to Your purpose (Rom. 8:28).
Thank You for showing us how to endure suffering, accepting the cup the Father had for You, for us (Mt. 26:39).
Thank You for reminding us that this world is not our home, that in the world we will have trouble, that You have overcome the world, and that You have gone to prepare a place for us in our perfect heavenly home (Heb. 13:14; John 16:33; John 14:2-3).
Thank You for teaching us to comfort others with the same comfort You have given to us. Help us serve the grieving well (2 Cor. 1:3-5).
Thank You, God, for the hope of heaven—the “sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” hope that someday every tear will be dried, every hurt will heal, and the effects of sin will no longer ravage our families and communities. I set my eyes on that day when You, in Your perfect wisdom and timing, say, “enough.” Until then, Lord, thank You for the comfort of Your Word. May You hold the hurting in Your hands and mend the wounded as only You can do (Heb. 11:1; Rev. 21:4; Ps. 34:18).