25 fourth and fifth graders and I sat on the floor of our classroom yesterday morning, and we wept.

Not all of us with wet tears, but we wrung our hearts dry with requests--pleas and belief that there must be more than this. Than cancer ridden grandparents and burned down homes, than war in Iraq and babies with inside-out hearts, than unsaved families and death. There must be more than this. We recited the words of James, that the effectual prayer of a righteous man produces much. We asked for that much.

Because we can't turn Aubrey's heart in the right direction and we can't ease the suffering of Liz when she comes home from Italy this week a young widow. We can't reach in and take the cancer from the aging grandfather and we are powerless to bring anyone to repentance.

And so we pray.

I confess. The past few days have been wrenching to my heart. The whys curse through me and I startle myself awake every few moments with the reality of death. It is there when I wake and there when I go to bed, everything is filtered through mourning. Not just for Christian, or Liz. Whatever doesn't break us makes us stronger, I know that. But I mourn what the writer of Hebrews said in chapter 11, that all those great and wonderful heroes of our faith "did not receive what was promised."

And I think about the multitude of promises, broken or otherwise. I think about the words of faith arisen in my heart and the crash of them all in the face of another disappointment. I think about those things and I think "There must be more than this. Please, God, let there be more than this."

Even victory stinks of humanity.

I don't know what to say, what to write. I don't know where peace is to be found in the middle of this--but that is where my comfort lies.

And I think that for Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and all the rest, that is where their comfort lay. If the goal had only been to make it through life whole, they failed. If only to stand and proclaim God's goodness in the face of every circumstance, they failed. If to gain entrance into the Hall of Faith, even that was a failure for so many. If, even, just to see the Messiah was their aim, they failed.

Because seeing the Messiah wasn't their goal. The culmination of promises weren't their aim and the end of the story wasn't in their sight. Wholeness and peace were only blessings above their portion.

They knew that God was their goal. Only Him. In whatever form, whatever measure, and whatever circumstance in which He arrived.

Tears wet our eyes and covered our hearts yesterday--we sought Him. Not answers. Not placebos. Not even healing. Not promises. We said, God, we need You. Just You. And that will do.