Why? That's always the question. Why this? Why that? And it's usually accompanied by blame. Why'd you do it?
Why does God let it happen?
Joshua McGinley had no answers. He'd been through this many times: it's the question the bereaved always ask.
He'd asked it of God himself, in those rare times his belief faltered. Asked it, and when he received no answer he asked again, because deep down he knew that when all logical questions had been asked and answers still didn't come, somehow he still believed.
That's the essence of faith, he thought. Knowing, without truly understanding.