I’m sopping wet.
Water runs down the hem of my skirt. My shoes slosh as I walk from the cemetery, up and down the Chivoc hills.
I lift my face and let the rain run like tears down my cheeks.
God, there has to be a reason for this. You have to have a good and perfect plan.
But as I reached my car and the rain continues to pour down, I cannot think of the reason why.
Why would God take this boy? My student?
He was the oldest of seven kids. His father had gotten sick, so this 14-year-old had taken the responsibility of working to provide for his family.
But now he was gone. His family inconsolable.
Grief weighs heavy on my heart as I get in my car. I yank the gear shift a harder than I should as I put it in four-wheel-drive to get out of the mud.
I drive out of the field and to the small dirt road. I adjust the plastic bag under me to protect the seat, but water drips down my elbows and to my lap.
Poor guys still in the cemetery.
But what if everyone had left already, braving the rain as I had done. If only I had someone’s number. To see if they need a ride.
Ah. Vincent.
One of my students. We had stood together during the burial. He had lost his classmate, his friend.
I give Vincent a call.
“Need a rescue?”
“But Miss, I’m still at the cemetery.”
“Yeah, but I can give you a ride.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I drive to the cemetery. Five minutes versus the half-hour I had just done walking in the rain.
Vincent and another young man are huddled under the cemetery wall.
“Come on!” I wave to them.
Vincent runs over and hops in the car. “Thanks, Miss!”
I glance back at him. “And your friend?”
“Oh, he can come to?”
I laugh. “Of course!”
Vincent calls his friend over, and we start driving in silence. The rain slows to a drizzle a few moments later.
“Well, would you look at that?” I say, wanting to test the atmosphere. “You boys could’ve walked home.”
Both boys laugh.
I smile in relief. Grief was not to triumph today.
I keep my tone light. “So, Vincent, are you gonna introduce me to your friend?”
Vincent blushes, always the shy one. “Ah…He’s my neighbor.”
I look in the rear-view mirror. “You got a name, neighbor?”
The other boy laughs again. “I’m Peter.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
Strange, I knew almost all the Chivoc youth. “You never went to school. Did you?”
He shrugs. “Just a few years. I had to work.”
“I would have met you if you had. But it’s good to meet you now, Peter.”
He pauses, and his smile fades. “My nephew is the boy who died.”
I sober. “Oh.”
I recall the funeral. The mom who collapsed to the ground as she wept. The invalid husband too weak to hold her up. “I’m sorry.”
Peter looks out the window. “Yeah.”
Vincent breaks the next wave of silence. “So, Miss, what kind of music do you all listen to in the states?”
Vincent and I chat comfortably as I drive. Peter interacts some, but mostly in monosyllables.
We arrive at the narrow dirt path that leads to their houses. I put my car in park. The rain had long ended. Storm clouds make way for sunshine and blue skies.
“Well, Peter, it was nice to meet you,” I say. “And if you want to get out of the house tonight, you can join us at youth group. I’ll be right here at 6:50 to give you a ride.”
“Yeah.” Vincent looks at me through the mirror and grins. “It’s a good distraction when things get tough.” He uses the same motivation that I had when I’d first invited him to church.
“Ah…” Peter looks over at his friend. “Are you going, Vincent?”
“Yup. I always go nowadays”
Peter nods. “I’d like that. I’ll see if my parents let me.”
I give him a smile that he can’t see behind my mask. “That’s all I ask. And if you can’t tonight then another day.”
Peter nods and opens the door. “Yeah, some other day.”
I wave at the boys as they hop out of the car. “See y’all tonight!”
I drive away, the sun now shining brightly. I never knew that Peter existed before today. But now this young man had branded himself on my heart.
And maybe, just maybe, God could use this terrible tragedy to bring a grieving 18-year-old and his supportive friend to know Him as the one true Comforter.
