Pastor Higgins stood at the wooden pulpit with his heavy leather Bible open in front of him.

He cleared his throat twice before starting his sermon.

“We are called to carry burdens we cannot measure,” Higgins said, straightening his glasses by the corners of the frames.

“Some questions belong to the Almighty alone.”

I smoothed the scratchy cloth of my black funeral dress down over my knees.

When Higgins looked down the center aisle and met my eyes, he didn’t look away or stare at the carpet the way he had on Friday.

He gave me a small, easy smile from the altar, the kind a shepherd gives when a stray lamb wanders back into the flock.