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God had known. God had always known. Man might not, but the Lord did. And perhaps, if one were on good terms with the Almighty, that would bring comfort rather than resentment.
God had known—and had done nothing to stop the horrors. Again, Margot’s voice in his head. Or his heart. “What would you have Him do, Lukas? He warns us of how not to act, but we disobey—like that time I climbed the tree when Papa had told me not to. But how is mankind railing at God any different than when I screamed at Papa for not catching me when I fell, even though I’d done it deliberately when he wasn’t nearby?”
Did man’s actions grieve the Lord so in heaven? Did He ache for them, even as they tore themselves apart?
Softness, she’d always claimed, should have a spine of steel hidden inside it.
“When you are ready, Jesus will forgive you. As He did Lukas.” Why did her life keep filling up with all these people who wanted to talk about Jesus? Willa shook her head. “Why would I want Him to do that?” “Because”—Margot smiled as if it were all as simple as two plus two—“that is when He can start piecing us back together.”
