They sat opposite each other on separate couches in the sparse but functional living area. A fire crackling from the fireplace and Christmas garland strung across the mantel gave the place warmth.

“So you woke up one day, and try as you might, He just wasn’t there, right?” Pastor Barrow asked.

How did he know? Had he experienced his life’s higher purpose seeping out, too? This complete withdrawal of all that sustained him, as if a rug had been ripped from beneath his feet? Had Pastor Barrow’s soul windmilled, lost and tumbling in a space so vast that the disorientation alone wouldn’t allow him to concentrate on anything else? Did all pastors go through it? And the most important question of all…would this relentless, empty vessel, his very soul, ever be filled with God’s grace and love again?

James rubbed his forehead in a nervous gesture that did nothing to calm him or help him focus his thoughts. “Yeah. Something like that. John, I’ve prayed. I’ve gone to my knees and begged. I’ve read and reread the Scriptures until my eyes want to fall off my face, and nothing. No…no answers. Nothing.”

“But so many questions.” Pastor Barrow’s face was kind, open. He waited.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” James said, looking up at the pastor across the short distance that separated them.

“And what doesn’t make sense?”

James shook his head. “Any of it. Anything. Everything. Everything that’s happening in the world…this thing with Travis. This terrible thing that he’s done. Will s-somebody please explain to me what’s going on!” His words came out in a flurry of frustration as his heart pounded hard. His whole body trembled with loss—the loss of his faith, the loss of hope, the loss of his sister’s joy, the loss of the town’s peace, the loss of the family destroyed by fire, Travis…and now Drew. His poor family.

His temple throbbed, and he grabbed at his forehead. If he could just make sense out of the senseless. “John, every day I look around. Innocent lives are being destroyed. Wars over differences of…faith? And children, sweet young children being taken from us by guns and bullets and brutal acts of nature. And those of us who are supposed to be protecting them, giving them faith, showing them guidance, they commit the most unspeakable acts of all. They all but desecrate His name. Is it any wonder that people are running away from the church, abandoning their faith?” He silenced his rant to take a cleansing breath. His words spoke anger and frustration at the world, but deep down James blamed God. And that knowledge plagued him.

He looked at Pastor Barrow who sat so patiently opposite him, the man’s wise gaze both knowing and sympathetic. Shame colored James’s thoughts. The good pastor was trying to help him, to act as a confidante, a confessor. Fine. Perhaps talking about it would order his thoughts.

“I know,” James said, speaking more calmly now, “that He has a reason, but for the first time in my life, I need to understand here”—he tapped the side of his head—“I need to understand why He would allow such…terrible things.” He lowered his gaze for a moment as the anguish of what he was about to say choked him before he could utter the words. Slowly he raised his gaze to face the pastor once again. “And, He won’t answer me now. When I need Him so desperately, when I’ve…when I’ve given my entire life to Him.” Emotion clogged his throat and burning tears glazed his vision. “It scares me in ways I can’t describe.”