IN QUEST OF REALITY

W hen tragedy strikes, even the clearest, most innocent heart stumbles into questions bigger than itself. One of my nieces— only ten—lost her father in a sudden accident during a sandstorm in Dubai. He had been driving when the storm overtook him, and he did not return. In the small room where the family gathered, the child’s voice broke the silence: “Where is God? Why didn’t He save my father?” It was a cry from pain, not rebellion; yet in her sorrow she turned away, seeing only loss and not the hidden weave of human choice, consequence, and divine wisdom. Many of us—children and adults alike—experience the same turn: grief becomes a complaint against the One who gave us life, when it could have become a door back to Him. Why does the heart move this way? Because most of us are bound—softly, sweetly, and almost completely—by our worldly ties. We pray, we bow, we keep our religious routines, yet our inner gaze often remains fixed on family, business, possessions, and plans. Worship drifts into formality; our gestures continue while our longing dozes. But God did not create emotions—love, care, devotion, attachment—merely so we could spend them on one another. God placed these feelings within us so we might learn how to direct them toward Him. Parental love, sibling affection, the bond of marriage and friendship—these are reflections of a greater light, shadows cast by the higher love we were meant to cultivate for our Creator. Every emotion we taste here is given in a kind of seed form. A child’s clinging trust, a spouse’s faithful companionship, a friend’s steady loyalty—each is a training ground for the LOVE FOR GOD BEYOND WORLDLY ATTACHMENTS A Child’s Question God did not create emotions—love, care, devotion, attachment— merely so we could spend them on one another. God placed these feelings within us so we might learn how to direct them toward Him.