How All Suffering Is A Blessing From God 🤕
God will transform all tragedy into good when you seek Him first...
And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.
— 1 Peter 5:10
Allison points at the tiny casket in the next room. “Where is that jerk?”
“I'm not surprised he didn’t show. Would you?”
“If I killed someone's kid? Yeah, I'd at least come to the funeral.”
“Honey,” Tim says, “it's Walter. That guy doesn't care about much of anything.”
“So what? You convinced me not to press charges! Why’d I listen to you?”
Tim leans down and whispers. “Please lower your voice.” He glances through the door at the rows of seated mourners. “People are staring.”
“They all know what he did. I'm calling him.”
Tim checks his watch. “Everything begins in a few minutes.”
“We'll start when I”—Allison points at her chest—“say we do.”
“Fine. I'll be waiting up front.” He turns toward the funeral parlor then spins back toward her. “You know, it wasn't his dog who stole Ethan from us.”
Allison pulls her phone from her purse. “It didn't help.”
A rasping voice answers after nine rings. “I told you, stop calling me! I don't want your stupid home warranty! Go bother some other sucker!”
“Walter,” Allison says, “what are you doing?”
“Who's this?”
“Don't play dumb. Why aren't you here?”
“Why aren't I where? Is this another prank call?”
Allison grips her phone, the wiry vein bulging in her arm. “I get it. You're old. But not senile. This is Allison Goodwin, your neighbor. The mom whose son you took from her.”
Walter scoffs. “You again? I'd rather talk to the sales guy from India who keeps bugging me.”
“Ethan's funeral starts soon. But I won't let it until your rear is planted in the front row next to us.”
“Eh, I'm not one for funerals. Seen enough of ‘em. Sorry your son died. But what's that got to do with me?”
“Are you kidding?! What about your mangy mutt who attacked him?”
“Ricky was provoked. Told you to keep off my property. Your boy got roughed up a little. That’s all. Not my fault he was so brittle.”
Allison grits her teeth, her eyes bubbling. “My boy was a fighter. Never gave up until his last breath. Now are you going to show up, or do I need to get you?”
Walter clicks his tongue. “I'm settled in my recliner, watching the game.”
“Then I’ll drag that chair down the street with you in it.” She hangs up. I could strangle that man.
As she throws the phone in her purse, a souvenir nestled inside catches her eye. Her stomach turns. She pulls out a child-sized hospital bracelet. Ethan Goodwin, Age 5. She runs her finger along his name. This got looser the sicker he got. She shakes her head. “He didn't deserve this, Lord. And neither do I.”
She marches past the swarm of lilies and carnations, ignores the condolences of loved ones, and sticks her hand out at Tim. “Gimme the keys.”
He raises his brows. “Where you going?”
“On a field trip. A certain grumpy, old man requires a home visit.”
Tim shakes his head. “Sit down.”
“No, I won’t.” She reaches for his pocket.
Tim covers his upper thigh. “You're not going to feel better by making him feel worse.”
She leans down, brings her face within an inch of his, and whispers. “I need to do something.”
He drops his head and shoves the keys in her hand. “Just don't give the guy a heart attack.”
“If it’s God’s will, so be it.”
Allison climbs into their black Suburban and peels out of the lot toward their neighborhood.
Squeezing the steering wheel, she gazes at the cactuses peppered across the arid landscape. We don't press charges, his dog still roams free, and he can't even come to the funeral?
If I'm going to lose my son, he’s going to lose his dog.
She tears into his cracked driveway, blades of grass peeking out from the concrete. Stomping onto his porch, she hammers on the door. “Walter! Open up!”
She pokes the doorbell four times and slams the door again. “I know you're in there!”
A wicker rocking chair creaks from a gentle breeze.
Allison shakes her head. Forgive me.
She goes down the steps, seizes a hand-sized rock from the weeds ruling the flower bed, returns to the door, and heaves it through the window.
Glass shatters, forming a jagged jigsaw puzzle. She wraps her hand in a dirty rag that was draped on the bannister, knocks out the remnant pieces, and unlocks the door from inside.
Dusty drapes blanket every window, permitting only a sliver of sunlight to beam through the shadows. A heavy musk lingers, making the entry smell like an attic.
She steps through the foyer, scanning for her prey. Bingo. Walter lies in the recliner, eyes closed, snoring, with the baseball game playing on mute.
She shakes him. “Wake up!”
He cracks his eyes and jolts back. “How’d you get in here?”
“I made my own key.”
“What?” he says, leaning forward. He holds up a finger and presses his hearing aids. “Are you crazy, Lady?”
She points toward the front door. “Get dressed and outside. You’re saying goodbye to Ethan.”
He turns away his head. “No, I'm not.”
“If you won't come with me, I’m taking your dog.”
Allison heads for the rest of the house. “Where is it?” She bursts into the kitchen, scouring every inch of the linoleum floor. “How about in here?”
She opens the door to another room and peeks under the unmade bed. An American flag hangs on the wall next to a glass display of medals.
“You won't find Ricky.” Walter shuffles into the room, dragging his left leg. “He's gone.”
“Where are you hiding it?” Allison tears open the closet. Heaps of clothes and fishing poles fall onto the floor.
“Not hiding. Gave away." He bites his lip. “To a farm. A long way from here.”
“Why'd you do that? The dog's a menace. Needs to be put down before anyone else gets hurt.”
Walter shakes his head. “Ricky’s far from kids now. Like I said earlier, I'm sorry you lost your boy.”
Allison throws up her hands. “You don't care.”
Walter limps to a photo on the wall. A 20-something man, decked in camo, stands on a tank. “That's mine. Well, was.”
She cocks her head and narrows her eyes. “What happened?”
“KIA. He’d still be alive if I hadn’t pushed him into service. Thought it would be good for him. But I knew the risks.” He pats his leg. “Tore my family apart.”
Allison drops onto the bed, bent over, both hands gripping the edge. Tears soak into the shag carpet. “I miss him so much.”
“Just don’t end up like me.” He places a hand on her back. “The bitterness, the guilt, they’ll consume you.”
Allison raises her head, wiping her eyes. “I know Ricky didn't do it. The Leukemia’s the culprit. Always was.”
“God sure allows some awful things to happen down here, doesn't He?”
“More than I can handle sometimes.” She blows out a deep breath. “But there’s always a blessing—whether in this world or the next—if you ask Him to show you.”
Walter nods, peering at his son’s photo. “Yeah.”
“You don't have to attend the funeral, but we do have family dinner every Sunday. You want to join tomorrow?”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You won’t be. I consider it a blessing.”
Walter smiles. “Good. I make one heck of a Tuna Noodle Casserole.”
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