I heard the news from my friend Laci first. "There's been an accident." At the word "accident" a cluster of girls coming down the hallway stopped dead in their tracks. Others came out of their dorm rooms, all pressing in around Laci as she stood in the hall.

"An accident?"

"What kind of accident?"

"Where?"

"There was a collision on I-69. My mom called and said to check the news," Laci said hesitantly. "It might be Taylor students."

Everyone crowded into the tiny lounge and waited for any information the local news might offer.

The story unfolded slowly, but our fears were eventually confirmed: Taylor students and staff were indeed involved in the wreck.

A semi-truck driver had allegedly fallen asleep at the wheel and careened across the grass median on I-69, plowing into a van full of students and staff returning from a university event. Several people were ejected from the vehicle. Five were pronounced dead at the scene, two were rushed to a local hospital, and two, in critical condition, were air-lifted to a hospital in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Names were not being released.

This report began one of the most agonizing nights Taylor has ever experienced.

I stayed up as late as I could, hoping the reporters would reveal something new. Praying that God would spare those still clinging to life and comfort the grieving families of those who were lost, I returned to my dorm room and crawled into my bed, not knowing what the morning would bring.

* * *

The following day I leaped out of bed at the buzz of my alarm and headed for the quickest source of information I could think of: my Taylor e-mail. My computer couldn't boot up fast enough. It was as if two giant hands were twisting my stomach into one of those jumbo pretzels. My hands shook as I typed in my username and password. Did I know any of the students that were killed? Was I going to show up to class and discover that one of my friends was injured or dead? My inbox popped onto the screen and my eyes fell on an e-mail from my friend Sam.

"... I don't know what to do. Carly lost her sister last night...."

I was numb in disbelief. My mind flashed back a year in time to when I was studying abroad in Ireland. Twenty-two Taylor students were there — including Sam and Carly — and they had all become like a second family. I remembered so clearly the night that Carly got off the phone with her mom. She ran into the room and exclaimed,

"Guys I'm so excited! My little sister, Whitney, was accepted to Taylor! I can't wait for you all to meet her!"

I suddenly snapped back to reality. "Why Whitney?" I whispered into the hollow stillness of my empty dorm. "Why?"

Seeing no more relevant information in my inbox, I googled "Taylor accident" and quickly pulled up a news article, published only minutes before. I was relieved to discover that my friend, Laura VanRyn was still alive. But as I slowly mouthed the names of the deceased — Whitney Cerak, Brad Larson, Laural Erb, Betsy Smith, Monica Felver — my heart sank lower in my chest. These were people with whom I interacted nearly every day. I knew them. They were part of my Taylor family.

Time stopped at Taylor University. Classes were canceled for days. Assignments were put on hold. The eerie silence in the dining commons at lunch that afternoon screamed of the shock and pain that everyone felt. Everyone was mourning. Clusters of people were gathered all over the campus, some praying and singing, others weeping together.

I was torn between which funeral to attend, since many of them fell on the same weekend, but I chose Whitney's. Though I hadn't known Whitney well, I knew and loved Carly and wanted to support the Cerak family during their time of loss.

I don't remember a whole lot of what was said at the funeral, but I do remember the Ceraks. They showed no bitterness or resentment towards God, but praised him for his sovereignty and thanked him for the brief time they had with Whitney. Their faith and reliance on Christ astounded me and I was humbled wondering if my own faith was that strong.

* * *

It's said that time heals all wounds. As days and weeks passed, the gnawing pain softened to a dull ache. Slowly life eased back to normal. Though not forgotten, my friends were gone, and I had come to terms with that.

School ended, as did Taylor's weekly updates on the status of my surviving friend Laura VanRyn. I frequently checked the blog her parents had set up to track her progress. The accident had left her in a coma, but she had awoken and the doctor's were anticipating a slow, but full recovery. The VanRyn's thanked God daily for sparing their daughter and praised him for his faithfulness.

I eagerly awaited the news of every new development in Laura's healing process. Then I received a phone call that turned my world upside down. As my hospitalized friend regained her ability to speak, she identified herself not as Laura VanRyn, but as Whitney Cerak. Dental records confirmed the mistake. Their bodies had been misidentified at the scene of the accident five weeks before.

Whitney was alive; Laura was dead.

The surge of joy at Whitney's "resurrection" was quelled, though, as I thought of Laura's beautiful smile that I would never see again this side of heaven.

Dumbfounded at how such a grievous error had been made, I checked the VanRyns' blog update. As the VanRyns relayed the details of the tragedy in their latest post, I was stunned. They continued praising the Lord for his faithfulness, and they thanked him for the 22 years that he blessed them with Laura.

* * *

As the news media broadcast the details of this shocking story, thousands from across the globe responded. Some of the VanRyns' blog entries received nearly 600 comments. Nearly all who posted were astounded by the incredible faith in God lived out by the Ceraks and the VanRyns during their times of loss.

Hundreds wrote that their lives had been touched and their faith inspired. Some recounted opportunities of how they shared the gospel as a result of the horrible news of the accident. Many rededicated their lives to the Lord. Others came to know Christ for the first time.

As one anonymous person posted,

"Yesterday I blew the dust of the Bible which was given to me as a graduation gift and has remained on the shelf in my dorm room since. I started praying for Whitney's recovery and the VanRyn family's loss. Until now I have considered myself an Agnostic, but after witnessing this miracle for Whitney's family and the courage of the VanRyns seated in their deep faith ... I need to believe."

Another said,

"I wish I shared your faith. In reading ... this blog it is obvious you have something so special…and I wish I did too. I am saddened ... and troubled ... by the hard time you have been through ... and yet here I am, wishing I had what you have. How can that be?"

As I was reading the blog comments, the words of Isaiah 55:9 came to mind: "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."

So much higher, I thought.

Many people, including myself, have been left to wonder why God would allow such seemingly senseless tragedies to occur. Like many who've struggled with this question, I've had to concede that there may be no definite answer this side of eternity. I've been encouraged, though, by the incredible faith lived out by those who lost loved ones in the accident. And I've been provoked by the legacies of the students and staff who died. But above all, I'm learning to rest in the knowledge that the Lord is sovereign, despite the loss and confusion.

And it's OK to not understand because his judgments are unsearchable, and his paths beyond tracing out. He understands, and that makes it all right.

As the impact of a wayward semi extinguished the lives of four students and one staff member, leaving all who knew them broken and in anguish, Christ taught me — and is teaching me still — to echo with Job, with the Ceraks, and with the VanRyns: "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him."

Though he slay me, yet will I trust him.