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By Marie Harrison

For the Clemmons Courier

Like many of you, as I sat and watched the news report come through Wednesday night of the horrific helicopter and plane collision at Reagan National Airport, my heart sank. Watching the video of the fireball that erupted from the helicopter and seeing both aircrafts plunge into the Potomac River was like something straight out of a Hollywood movie. And yet, it was real. Heartbreakingly real.

My mama’s heart immediately went to the families of the three service members aboard that Blackhawk helicopter. Three families who would now be greeted with knocks on their doors from military personnel relaying the most heart wrenching of news. And for the families of all those aboard the passenger jet, waiting by their phones to hear if their loved ones had made it safely to Washington, D.C., not knowing that their goodbyes at the airport were final. And as my son woke up Thursday morning, the young man who wants to do nothing more than serve his country and pilot planes for the Navy, I ran upstairs to give him a big hug. He had seen the news already. He knew when I came running what was coming, in a world with so much uncertainty, we have to grab on to what matters when we can.

And later, as my youngest daughter came into my room to have her hair braided for school, I struggled to find the words to share with her about the tragedy that unfolded while she slept warm and snug in her bed. How do I do my job as a parent and give her assurance that even when the world seems like it’s been tipped on its axis, when nothing seems to make sense, it will all be OK?

The simple answer is that I can’t. I can’t tell my daughter that nothing like this will ever happen again. I can’t tell my son that there are no risks in choosing the armed forces for his career. I can’t even confidently say that I will drive safely from one point to another today, because there are always risks and Jesus said it best when He said, “In this world, you will have trouble.”  

Most definitely this world is full of trouble. There are days of tears and confusion and heartache. Not one of us will escape this life without feeling the pains and suffering of a broken world, but thankfully, that’s not where the story ends. Before President Trump signed the Laken Riley Act into law, her mother, Allyson Phillips, said something that really made me stop and think. Here was a mother who had suffered the unthinkable; her daughter, a young, nursing student, so full of hope and promise, was brutally murdered and taken way too soon from this life. And yet, this mother still had hope. As Ms. Phillips stopped to thank the president and Congress for their role in getting this new legislation passed, she also chose to thank one other person as well: her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

“Without His (Jesus’) sacrifices, Laken’s story would have ended on that horrific day she was taken from us,” she said. “But because of Him, we can continue living knowing we will see Laken again.” 

In the face of desperation and a broken world full of heartache, this family still has hope.

While Jesus assured us all in John 16:33 that we would have trouble in this world, He also offered us hope and assurance. “But take heart, I have overcome the world.” 

Our stories don’t end with suffering. Our stories don’t end with a broken world full of things we can’t explain. Our stories don’t end in tears or sadness. Our stories continue on for eternity, with Jesus. For all those who put their hope and trust in Jesus, and know Him personally as their Savior, this world is not the end, it’s just a blip on the road to eternity and healing and oneness with God and Jesus. Laken Riley’s mom knew that tragedy didn’t have the final say, Jesus does. And that’s the hope that each one of us can carry forward in the midst of tragedy — this is not the end. Jesus defeated death and sin and offers us all the gift of forgiveness and life eternal in a place where tragedy strikes no more. And in light of our world today, that’s exactly the hope and assurance I need to carry on and comfort my grieving heart.