One of the saddest memories from my early childhood is centered around a sweet puppy named Spinky. I was playing with him near the front stoop when my dad and brother came home, and Spinky got so excited at their return that he ran out to meet them. But Spinky, being all paws and ears, tripped in his running and rolled under the car’s tires.

I was shocked and very sad. Our family gathered in the living room to talk about what had happened. And I watched my father cry for the first time I can remember. At that moment, I realize now, I never harbored any question or thought of anger toward my father, such as, “Why did you kill our puppy?” or “How could you let this happen?” His tears just melted my heart, and I cried both for the loss of Spinky and for my dad’s sorrow.

Last night, I was praying for all the people across our country deeply affected by the Parkland school shooting, and I thought of both this family memory and a song called “God Weeps Too” by a singer named Eli. The chorus says: God weeps too, God weeps too // Though we question Him for all that we go through // Still it helps me believe and my pain it does relieve // When I think that God weeps too.

In the face of senseless tragedy brought on by the darkest angles of free will, it is easy for us to question and doubt and scream in our anguish – and to go about our lives in fear of what may await us around the next bend. I am not judging any of us for having these very natural responses. But if, even in the midst of the pain and the wrestling, I think of the tears in God’s own eyes and the breaking of His giant heart, it will often mute my questions and cool my ire.

For God’s heart beats for – and breaks for – each of the innocent victims and their families. But it also beats for and breaks for the young man who chose to kill. Because from the moment that each of those people were conceived – and even in the infinity before – God knew each name and each heart. And He has always loved them. He loves them still.

And the deeper we love, the more we hurt when those we love make bad choices.

So when we cry out in anguish, asking God if He sees us, I think sometimes it seems like He’s silent because He’s just nodding when all the tears rolling down His face have choked off His words for a little while.

Sometimes our gratitude is shown silently, through touch. When a terrified baby cries through the pain of her earaches and teething, her father rocks her in the wooden glider for two hours straight until the worst of the pain has passed and her whimpers slowly fade into the silence of sleep. He sighs and kisses her sweaty forehead. She is not old enough to say the words, but her actions have said, “Help me…. Stay with me… Thank you.” And her father, through his touch and calm actions, has said, “I won’t leave you. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sometimes our gratitude is shown quietly, through staying. A husband and wife have a necessary but difficult discussion. Though voices are raised at points and some very painful words slip out, neither leaves the room and they stick it out. And finally, they look into each others eyes and stretch hands across the table, fingers joining and squeezing with reassurance while the expression on each face says, “Thank you for loving me through my struggles and weaknesses.”

Sometimes our gratitude is shown directly, through approach-ability. One woman pours out a part of her heart and, at the end of the confession, says, “Thank you for allowing me to share.” And her friend, who has been listening respectfully, replies, “Thank you for trusting me enough to confide in me.”

Sometimes our gratitude is show unexpectedly, through selflessness. An adult daughter needs her dad’s advice, presence, and help, but she’s afraid to ask for those things – afraid she’ll be a burden to him by interrupting his day and taking up all of his time. But she risks asking anyway and thanks him for his assistance. Hours afterward, he surprises her by contacting her and saying, “I was thankful to be able to spend the extra time with you today.” Then she begins to cry because she is reminded that he sees what – or who – is most important.

In giving and receiving every different type of gratitude horizontally, each of us becomes a little bit more like the One we must ultimately be most grateful to.