I was learning a lot about courage, what it means and how to find it. In my theological studies, Paul Tillich defined "the courage to be" as faith that includes the acceptance of despair. I found comfort in that paradox. It seemed truer than the easier idea that in some grand plan tragedy is justified. In other words, there is no despair to accept. Of course lessons embedded in hardship are useful. But try as I might, I can't imagine a divine plan that stretches wide enough to include the former concentration camps I visited in Germany or the gross inequities worldwide that leave children starved.

Mother, speaking of her relationship with Dad, used to assure me, "You know, Precious Lamb, the Lord gives us difficulties to make us stronger." Most of the people I knew would agree with her.

"But Mom," I countered, "It's still a bad deal. If life weren't so hard, we wouldn't have to be so strong. And besides, tragedy as exercise would be a rash gamble on God's part, since many people don't end up stronger. They're left psychologically maimed. Or they kill themselves."

Mother just shook her head, with a sad look that always made me feel guilty.

I could accept a loving God who didn't have control. But a God who ordained, or even permitted, the pain I witnessed was not a God I would worship. In the rejection of God's power as omnipotent, my faith changed.