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Twenty-five years ago, while making a long drive to my grandmother’s funeral in Massachusetts, I stopped for the night to visit my brother.
He was living with a young woman named Margaret and their one-year-old son, Matthew.
As we lingered at table after the evening meal, the three of us got into a long discussion about God and the way he works in people’s lives.
It was a subject that interested me deeply. Just a decade earlier, I had experienced God’s love for me in a profound way that drew me back to the church. I wanted other people to discover that love for themselves. Margaret was not a believer, but she was interested in the faith and very open to it. However, she wrestled with the problem of evil.
I had taken an excellent college class in Christian apologetics and was drawing from it as we plumbed the depths of why God allows the innocent to suffer.…
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