I ran into Jill at a going away party for a mutual friend. I hadn’t seen her for years and when I saw her over across the hors d’oeuvre table I remembered that a few years ago an e-mail had circulated asking for prayer for Jill’s son. He had cancer and was going to have a bone marrow transplant. Funny, but I couldn’t recall the outcome of that procedure. She smiled and we hugged and exchanged pleasantries. She seemed fine, but fragile, like those fancy tea cups and saucers my mother collects. A small bump and she’d break. So I asked.

“He died,” she said. “Three years ago. He was seventeen.” Her eyes became rimmed in red and the tears made them seem larger than before. “But I’m doing better now. The first year I couldn’t talk about it or leave my house, but now I’m able to get out. And I want to tell people.”

My heart swelled and felt as if it would burst through my ribs. A mother’s worst fear is to lose one of her children. How could she stand it? I asked questions, letting her talk about his illness, his last days, his death. Funny, you’d think this would make both of us feel worse, but by the end, I was filled with hope. This fine young man was a Christian and his last days were filled with his love for God and his family. He knew where he was going. Do you?