Chapter 2
The Desk of Doubts
Lily's desk becomes a battlefield of faith. She questions why bad things happen to good people, her anger and confusion swirling amidst the religious icons and everyday objects.
Lily’s desk was a universe all its own, a swirling galaxy of half-finished drawings, glitter glue that had escaped its tube like a tiny, sparkly comet, and a small, chipped ceramic angel that had lost its halo somewhere along the way. Each item was a whisper from Grandma, a memory tucked away in a corner of Lily’s heart. A smooth, grey stone, found on their last walk by the sea, sat beside a bright pink crayon, the very one Grandma had used to draw a wobbly sun with a smiley face in Lily’s favorite picture book.
But today, the familiar comfort of her desk felt different. It was like a favorite blanket suddenly felt prickly, or a warm hug turned into a cold squeeze. Lily traced the chipped wing of the angel with her finger, her brow furrowed. Why, oh why, did Grandma have to go? Grandma, who always smelled like cinnamon and sunshine, who knew how to make the best lemonade, and who always said Lily’s drawings were masterpieces, even the ones with scribbles that looked more like spaghetti than people.
A heavy sigh escaped Lily’s lips, a sound that felt too big for her small chest. She looked at a small, silver cross that Grandma had given her. It gleamed in the afternoon light, but today, it didn’t feel like a promise of protection. It felt like a question. A big, confusing question that Lily didn’t have the answer to.
“It’s not fair,” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. The words hung in the air, heavy and dark, like storm clouds gathering. She picked up a little wooden bird, its wings outstretched as if ready to fly. Grandma had carved it for her, saying it was a reminder that even when things felt stuck, there was always a way to soar. But Lily didn’t feel like soaring. She felt like she was sinking.
Her gaze drifted to the picture on her wall, the one of the empty tomb. It was a simple drawing, done in soft blues and greys, with a sliver of golden light peeking through the entrance. Grandma had pointed it out to her once, her voice gentle. “See, Lily-bug,” she’d said, her eyes twinkling, “even when it looks like everything is gone, there’s always hope. Always.”
Lily snorted, a little puff of frustration. Hope. What was hope when Grandma wasn’t here to share her cookies with? What was hope when her favorite person in the whole world was… gone? It felt like a cruel joke. She looked at the collection of colorful buttons scattered near the angel, another of Grandma’s treasures. Each button had a story – the shiny gold one from Grandma’s fancy coat, the little blue one from her gardening apron, the pearly white one from a dress she wore to church. Now, they just looked like… buttons. Little, useless buttons.
A wave of anger, hot and prickly, washed over her. It wasn’t fair that Grandma was gone, and it wasn’t fair that she was left feeling so lost. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t fair that God, or whoever was up there, let bad things happen to good people. Like Grandma. Grandma was the kindest person Lily knew. She always shared her toys, always helped Mrs. Gable next door with her groceries, and always had a smile for everyone. So why her? Why did she have to get sick?
Lily’s hands clenched into fists. She wanted to shout, to scream, to shake her fist at the sky and demand an answer. But the words got stuck in her throat, turning into a tight knot of sadness and confusion. She felt a prickle behind her eyes, the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. She blinked them back fiercely. Crying wouldn’t bring Grandma back. Crying wouldn’t make the unfairness disappear.
She picked up a smooth, cool stone, the one from the beach. She remembered Grandma’s hand holding hers as they walked along the shore, the salty air kissing their faces. Grandma had told her that the ocean was like life – sometimes calm and peaceful, and sometimes wild and stormy. But no matter what, the ocean was always there.
Lily looked at the stone again. It was simple, ordinary. But it was also a piece of that day, a tangible reminder of Grandma’s laughter and the warmth of her hand. She turned it over and over in her fingers. It didn’t have glitter or bright colors, but it held a different kind of sparkle, a quiet glow from a happy memory.
Then, her eyes fell on the little wooden bird again. Grandma had said it was a reminder to soar. Maybe, Lily thought, maybe Grandma didn’t mean soaring over the clouds. Maybe she meant soaring in her heart. Maybe Grandma meant that even though she was gone, the love she had for Lily, and the love Lily had for her, could still fly. It could fly and flutter and keep them company, even when they were apart.
The anger began to soften, like a hard lump of clay being gently molded. The confusion didn’t disappear entirely, but it felt less sharp, less overwhelming. She looked at the cross, then at the buttons, then at the stone. They weren’t just objects anymore. They were little pieces of love, like tiny treasures Grandma had left behind. Trinkets. That’s what Grandma used to call them, her little treasures.
Lily picked up the ceramic angel, its halo still missing. It looked a little bit broken, a little bit imperfect. But it was still an angel, a symbol of goodness and protection. And even without its halo, it still looked like it was watching over her. Just like Grandma.
A small, tentative smile touched Lily’s lips. The empty tomb on her wall didn't look so scary anymore. It looked like a promise. A promise that even when something ends, something else can begin. A promise that love, like the light peeking through the tomb, could always find a way to shine.
She carefully arranged the stone, the buttons, and the little bird on her desk, placing them near the angel. They weren’t just things that reminded her of Grandma’s passing. They were things that reminded her of Grandma’s love. And that love, Lily realized, wasn’t lost. It was just… different. It was a treasure she could carry with her, always. The knot in her throat loosened, and this time, when a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, it felt different. It felt like a release, a gentle sigh of understanding. The desk, once a battlefield of doubts, was slowly transforming into a treasure chest of enduring love.