From Rage to Resurrection

A bereaved mother encounters Jesus.

By: Margaret Millar

It began as an ordinary day, like so many others. I was at home—eight months pregnant with my third child—feeding my one-year-old daughter and watching through the window as my son, Neil, played outside.

I don’t know exactly what happened, but in a matter of minutes, I lost sight of my little boy. Alarmed, I called neighbors to help me look for him. Our search ended shortly afterward, when Neil was discovered just yards from our house, in a tiny creek where he had drowned. He was two weeks from his fourth birthday.

I will never forget the ride to the hospital, the pronouncement of Neil’s death, and his funeral. I was devastated beyond words, sucked into a whirlpool of pain, sorrow, and helplessness that nothing and no one could relieve.

A Mother’s Anguish. Gone was my absolute faith in God. From childhood, I had always been convinced of his reality. Now, in my grief, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe God doesn’t exist, I thought. Maybe the world is just a place of utter…

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