Today I helped my niece shop for a dress to wear to the funeral of her fiancé. It is heartbreaking for me to see her so quietly sad. She is bearing this with grace and dignity, quiet acceptance. I am the one that wants to rage for her. I don't want her to hurt. I love her. She is more of a sister to me than many of my sisters. And so I go to store after store, discussing the fit of this dress, or that dress, criticizing fashions that don't allow for class and elegance. Only once did she make the comment that I had been thinking.

We had sat to rest after several hours of shopping and she looked at me, "It's not fair, Ramona. I should have been shopping for my wedding dress."

No. It isn't fair. I want her to have every happiness. I do not want her to hurt. Yet pain is an important part of life, a part that teaches us, helps us, humbles us. I do see the hand of God in this. How could I not? He was hit by lightning that jumped to two trees before striking him in the forehead. The storm lasted only minutes. He was just outside my niece's house waiting to surprise her. I have felt so at peace with this, but still, I hurt for her. I want to kiss it and make it all better. (There is the mother in me.) So I pray for peace, for me, for her. I pray for the scripture to be fulfilled that says, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." I pray for the peace which passeth understanding.