Naming the Good

On the night of April 21, 2008, I stood in an outside courtyard at UCLA Hospital. A group of nearly 100 friends encircled me, some weeping, some silent, all in shock at the unexpected place they found themselves ending what began as an ordinary day. 

Two floors below me, my 26-year old wife lay on an operating table, her brain hemorrhaging due to the rupture of a life-long abnormality that we had no idea was there. The innocent myth of youthful immortality burst like an iridescent bubble blown from a child's lips as Katherine lay dying.

The brokenness of that moment, of all the broken moments of creation, tremored down my spine, opening my eyes, as if for the first time, to the true reality of this world. My mind raced and plagued me with a slideshow of horror from which no amount of waiting room magazines could help me escape.

I gripped a crimson-bound Gideon's Bible found in the waiting room as if my life depended on it, and it did. Unconsciously, my fingers turned the dog-eared pages to the book of Romans, to the 8th chapter, and I began to read it aloud. It had always been Katherine's favorite passage, so it only seemed fitting, but as the words left my mouth, I wondered how they might ever be proven true on this night. 

"And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."