My brother died in the Columbine High School shooting in 1999 and I wrestled with God, but I still trust him

April 19th, 1999 I quietly padded down the stairs of our modest home to say goodnight to my big brother John. There were three of us Tomlin siblings, me, eleven years old, my middle brother Patrick, fourteen, and John, sixteen. After giving him a hug and saying goodnight, I started back up the stairs to my room. A thought struck me, so forcefully, it made me stop. It said, “Go tell him you love him again. Go give him another hug, cause you aren’t going to see him again.” My mind was used to anxious thoughts dropping in, but somehow this seemed different. I paused on the top of the stairs and I looked back at him. I saw his buzzed dirty blonde hair and slightly upturned nose. I thought he might think I’m crazy if I went down and gave him another hug so instead I just said again, “I love you. Goodnight!” “Love you too Ash”, he responded.

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The next morning, as I was eating breakfast, he slipped out the door in his classic uniform of jeans, a t-shirt and a baseball hat. I felt relieved that my thought the night before hadn’t come true as I heard his 1985 Chevy pick-up truck rumble down the street. What I didn’t know then was that that was the last time I’d ever see my brother. While my school was in lockdown, my brother was under a library table comforting a girl who he barely knew. As black boots and screaming voices made their way through the library spewing hate and bullets, in one moment my brother was gone, murdered.

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Up until this point I never had a reason to ask too many questions about my faith.

Up until this point I never had a reason to ask too many questions about my faith. It was innocent and relatively carefree. After April 20th, a door cracked open of doubts. What’s the point of praying for safety? Why did some students get passed over by the shooters, but John wasn’t? Was this really part of God’s perfect plan? Christian cliches and platitudes now left a bad taste in my mouth. Somehow though, I felt closer to God at John’s funeral than I ever had before. We saw God moving through the community, the country, and even the world. While it didn’t take away my pain, seeing so much good come from his death, brought some meaning and purpose to it all.

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I carried John’s legacy with me as I grew into a teenager and then an adult. Seventeen years after he died, I decided to write a blog about my experience losing him. At this  point, I was married with two children, a boy and a girl. Before the twenty week ultrasound for our third baby, I wrote in my blog “I feel God telling me that no matter what the future holds, I will make it through. Not by my own strength, not by a long shot. No, I can walk boldly into the future with confidence because I can stand in the power of Christ.”

At that ultrasound we discovered that our baby was a boy, and also that he didn’t have a left arm and he had possible stomach and heart issues as well. We left that appointment devastated and ready to fight for our little warrior, Joshua. He was born at thirty-eight weeks pregnant, and it seemed we discovered a new birth defect every week. He had surgeries, scans, x-rays, and even times we watched in horror as doctors performed CPR. After two and a half traumatic months in the hospital, we leapt for joy as we got to take him home. But just one day after coming home, he joined my brother in heaven.

I could no longer push those nagging doubtful thoughts to the back of my mind. Why would God bring us through all of this just to let him die? 

I could no longer push those nagging doubtful thoughts to the back of my mind. Why would God bring us through all of this just to let him die? Why do some babies get miracles and mine didn’t? I wrestled for years with God, seeking answers in his word, talking with friends, and praying. Just two years later, when my thirty-five-year-old brother Patrick was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer, I was finally at the point of surrendering to the unknowns. I knew there were things I’d just never understand, at least not here in this life. I knew I had to seek all the evidence in God’s word that he is good and he does care for us, and then, trust. I knew God was the only one who could offer true untainted hope. When my brother passed away from his cancer, he told me to surrender all I was to God. And somehow, I think I finally had.