Glory Be

Chapter Eighteen

Isaiah had been to many funerals before this. For elders, the healthy, the sick, parents, even children before. Yet, this hit harder than before. God hadn't helped him.

Did he do the prayer wrong?

Should he have stayed longer?

Ignited a candle?

Isaiah felt his heart drop. He had no idea what he could've done, or where the deciding factor had laid. His eyes dropped shamefully to the ground. Where he noticed his shoes had become off-colored by the dust. The mind felt so heavy.

"Stand up straight," His Farther grabbed his shoulder, and pulled him upwards.

Isaiah quickly readjusted his posture. Snapping his head upwards and stepping back into the crowd of his family. Next to him was his Father and his brother, suffocating him with their mere presence. Behind him was his mother and sisters. They whispered to each other. Isaiah's mind defaulted back to

The small crowd was just waiting now. Most people wouldn't show up to the funeral of someone who died of tuberculosis, but his Father believed it was their duty to show compassion. Isaiah had never doubted that. Next to them was the teacher from the schoolhouse. Her eyes were cloudy with tears, and her husband stood kindly by her side. There were a few other family members of the Evans family. Anyone who wouldn't be arriving with the body.

The body...

No. A kid.

Luke.

A black hearse drawn by two horses slowly trotted down to the burial site. Isaiah watched his Father talk to the undertakers. Who were characteristically dressed in their black suits. Isaiah was familiar with them. They had served by his Father's side for as long as he could remember. How could they touch death every day?

Isaiah's eyes laid upon the hearse, and a brief glimpse of the wooden coffin could be seen. It was so small. Isaiah held his breath and refused to hold his attention any longer. He pressed his hands together and began to dig his nails into the sides of his fingers. A continuous and a repeatable motion.

Suddenly his family was surrounding the boy's grave. Mr. Evans was speaking about his son, and his memory. Luke's favorite things were marbles, horses, and learning to cook. Luke was trying to follow in his father's footsteps. He was also an excitable boy, filled with passion for life. Until he fell sick. Isaiah blinked.

Now his Father was speaking. Saying something from Psalms. He muttered words of valleys, death, and not fearing evil. God was with him now. Isaiah swayed nervously. He couldn't feel his hands. Were his nails still digging into his palm? He couldn't feel it.

"Say your respects," David whispered and softly shoved Isaiah forward. Oh, they were burying Luke now. Isaiah stood over the open grave. The wooden casket had small markers all over the cover. Intricacies done by the family, marking the last resting place of their son with symbols of love. Isaiah stared a moment longer. He put his hands together, and muttered something that didn't make much sense. He didn't think about it. As he walked away, Mr. Evans said something to him, but he didn't hear it.

Maybe it was God he was confused about. He didn't doubt His existence, but he didn't understand the reasoning. How did He decide on who stays and who goes. Who gets better, and who does not.

Does a coyote weep when it feels the rabbit squirm in its jaws? Does the rabbit accept its fate? Do the cows know when they're out for slaughter? Do they know why there is blood spattered across walls? Do fish know when they've been caught on a hook? Does the cheetah know why it runs? Do ants fear the boot of man?

Does a good God let innocent children die?

Did He not bring the plagues to Egypt?

Did He not give humanity free will?

Does He not have a plan?

It had to be faith then. Faith that humanity would trust Him. Trust his word, written within the holy pages of the bible. The divine word of God. Horrific things happen because the world is tainted with sin. A sin humanity brought upon themselves. Did God plan for that? What wouldn't He know?

Did He not pull the mountains up from the ground? Crafting the granite around His fingertips and creating rivers with an idle motion. Did He not invent man? Full of detail and complexity? Then why not the mysteries of Earth?

His Faith told him God had all the answers. His Faith told him with the correct guidance, he wouldn't stray from God's plan. His Faith told him to give his trust over.

His humanity still wondered why they were burying a seven-year-old.