I sometimes wonder how God stands it: watching all the million tragedies of every hour, all those who suffer, great and small: for not the smallest sparrow falls without that He sees. How does He keep Himself from intervening in so many countless times that He could; how does He show such restraint? O my God: there is an easy voiding of Thy even existing some may recommend to solve such a conundrum, but no, my God, I myself will not capitulate and say that Thou art not, for my heart has need of You. I think to say, instead, to save my salvation, You see what I cannot, for Thine is the infinite eye which sees the end before even the beginning. And I wonder at the secret.

Dostoevsky once said that he would not have created the world if one innocent were to suffer needlessly — You, however, obviously have done so. But I think You know something. The secret has even been known to a scant few mortals, those who prayed for the ones that murdered them (clue), and of course, to Your Son, who said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do,” while on the cross (clue). Further, preceding that event, Christ said, “Turn the other cheek,” and He went on to do just that (clue). And then the secret comes to me, so simple to say, though I know myself I would forget it under duress: to love. For in the hereafter, where there is nothing but, there is no question why. The innocent who suffer, they are raised up with Christ our Lord upon the cross. They know a little what it means to conquer the world through surrender, and not by force of arms; they know a little of what it means to conquer death itself.