But I can, for I have come to realize that the same God that seemed to sit silently while hearts ceased beating, also blew life into everyone else around me that I love, now shaping their strong hands and putting spark in their vision. So it is, I don’t clench my hands in anger in all that I’ve witnessed, but simply give thanks. God writes death on all our hearts, just as he writes life, our story penned as much by our actions as His creation, our heart a journal that only we keep, it’s entries scribed by both man and God, it’s ending as much as a mystery as we are. — Brigid, “On Faith and Firearms“