Tragedy

I look around. It seems like all I see is tragedy. My facebook newsfeed tells me things. A wife who, this week, became husbandless—like me. A tiny boy with a huge tumor. A woman sifting through her young, dead husband's things and finding the most precious, painful treasures. And more. I'm sure there's more.
 
What if this world was all there was? What if we got one chance at life, and we were dealt a bad hand? What if the men of our dreams die too soon and our cherished children become desperately ill? And there is nothing we can do to stop it. We can't hold on tight enough to control all this. We can't hold onto anything really.
 
So where can I run when the tears won't stop—for my tragedy and for others'? Is there any hope at all for these "bad hands"?
 
When Chris and I used to drive by those old, big, beautiful homes on Summit Avenue and dream about buying one of them "one day," I remember us saying, "it's a good thing this world is not all we have." (A teacher and part-time nurse salary would never buy us one of our dream homes, so we tried to make our little place our "dream home.")
 
Chris marveled aloud as we drove the drive that moved us into my parent's home (after starting hospice), "It seems strange that I will never drive this stretch again." I-94 east from our house, past the home where he grew up...and to the place where he would die. And he knew it.
 
Mansions are waiting (John 14:2). Chris knows this better than any of us ever could—right now, anyway. Paradise. What must that be like? What must eternal REST feel like?
 
Oh, there's so much more to say about the HOPE I have! About this life—these "bad hands." I will say more, but that is enough for now. I'm resting on this.