Article September 23, 1996 Issue

The love that heals grief

Barbara Beth Whitewater

It's Sunday morning and I'm on my way to church. Stopped at a red light, I watch a long line of motorcycles cross by, each with a colorful toy fastened to it. This is the day that a local park hosts an annual motorcyclists' toy drive for needy children. It's always a sweet picture—many bearded, leather-jacketed, tattooed riders on this tender mission of mercy. But today, the scene is especially poignant. Yesterday, this community learned that a local boy had been brutally murdered. I heard a grieving neighbor tearfully ask, "What is happening to our children?"

Our children, she had said. These moments of communal love for children point to the instinctive awareness people have that we are all one family of the one Parent, God. It underlies the care strangers so naturally have for one another's children.

When my infant daughter passed on suddenly many years ago as a result of a drowning accident, the incident was reported by a local newspaper. I was amazed at the outpouring of concern from the members of my community. At that time I was a new student of Christian Science, and I was learning that God cherished me, and that if I kept my thought open, I could recognize the evidence of His love everywhere. As the public reached out with kindness, I realized that God's love is reflected by man, and that the numerous ways people were showing their affection were expressive of the infinite nature of God's love.

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The love that heals grief

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