About two and one-half years ago, I lost my father, my brother and my thirteen-year-old nephew in a boating accident in the Gulf of Mexico; two other little nephews were rescued after hours at sea. My nephew, Drake, was unaccounted for at the time of the other rescues and recoveries. Four days later, my husband preached the funerals. He stood above and behind three identical grey caskets that lined the front of my home church. He stood, paradoxically, in the exact place where my family had watched me, even as I had watched them, make our public professions of faith, pray as a deacon, commit to full-time Christian service, and marry. Now, we were once again occupying that same place, but for a reason previously untenable. The day before the funerals, a group of about 40 of us held hands and prayed that God would miraculouly bring Drakey's body home to us in time for the funerals. That did not happen. At the service, two of the three caskets were open; they flanked the closed and empty casket in the middle--the one that had only a frame with a precious little boy's picture atop it. Symbolically, that was Friday, but then came Sunday! Nine days after the accident ,and three days after the funerals, the coroner arrived at my sister's house to say that they were sure they were "bringing Drakey home." Again, the funeral home brought that same matching casket to the funeral service; this time God allowed us to inter it. At Drake's funeral, the casket was still closed, but our eyes and hearts were unabashedly open in wonder and amazement, as we beheld and proclaimed the sovereignty of ou r God. By way of information, our family was strong in the Lord. Our parents were devoted Christians and provided a homelife that was always God-honoring. My husband, our children and I had served with the IMB for 15 1/2 years prior to feeling the Lord's leadership in bringing us back to the States about a year before the accident. Once again, His sovereignty. My brother, who had only been married for a year and one-half to a widow with four little boys, was on the way to Austrailia with his family for missions. My nephew, Drake, had accepted the Lord with his mother only two months before his home-going. His favorite hymn--the one he always sang to his mother-- "Love Lifted Me". ("I was sinking...far from the peaceful shore; but Love lifted me.") The Misery of Job and The Mercy of God was given to me by a family friend. After returning to my home about a month following the funerals, I asked my husband to listen to the CD with me as we followed your reading. As he held me in his arms--there were no words--we heard you say, " I cling with feeble fingers to the ledge of your great grace..." I dissolved in tears. Someone, somehow, had managed to wrench, with amazing precision, the words and emotions from my pent-up soul and express them. I read the words over and over. And even as I traced them with my finger upon that page, God was tracing them upon my being. Apart from God's precious, sustaining Word, your inspired words have brought healing balm and solace to me in the midst of human agony and anguish. As they embraced my spirit, they gave wings to my emotions and expression to my faith. What I had been tau ght, what I had professed, and what I was now being called upon to live out had been experienced by another: God's sovereignty was enough. His timing impeccable. His ways past finding out. His goodness beyond description. Because of God's sovereignty, I feel no desire to question the reason for a "rogue wave on a gorgeous day"; or why He didn't allow my brother to go as a missionary; or why He chose for us to wait nine long days before bringing my nephew home; or why two were rescued and yet three were taken... To all who hesitantly pose the questions to me, I feel somewhat like Job as he tried to answer Jemimah's questions to him. My answer: day-by-day, "the rod of God is becoming the tender kiss of God."