Terrytown, CT, U.S.A., 2010

Fifteen year-old Charley buttoned up her Sunday dress. It was a new frock, with a stylish empire waist, and its brown color brought out her eyes. Charley flounced out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, where her grandmother was making cookies. Charley loved her grandmother. Gran was tall with a confident stride and all of Charley's friends were impressed with her even before they heard her English accent.

"What do you think of my new dress, Gran?" asked Charley.

"It's perfectly gorgeous!" exclaimed her grandmother.

Charley smiled and twirled round.

Gran turned back to stirring the batter for oatmeal cookes.

"Gran, can I ask you something?" Charley said.

"Anything you like,"

"Why don't you come to Mass with me and mom and dad?"

Gran's back stiffened and she did not answer.

"Oh," said Charley.

"I didn't mean to ask it like that, really, but I-I"

"Don't be sorry," Gran commanded.

"It's time you knew what I think."

She poured the batter into a pan, wiped the flour off her hands onto her apron, and sighed.

"I don't believe in God, Charley dear, I think you know that. Church is all very well and I do think it's mentally beneficial but I'd be a hypocrite if I went and pretended I believed in what goes on there. I can't pretend and I can't believe for real. Do you know why?"

Charley shook her head.

"I can't because of war. I can't because of murder. I can't because of children dying. I can't because of all the hurt in this world."

"But Gran," said Charley.

"Please Charley," said the tired woman.

"If God existed, do you think my family would have died? My cousin Eustace was your young age when the crash happened. My good mum and my brave father died in each other's arms. Peter was killed too, and I had to tell his fiancee. Edmund had to be identified by his dental records. And Lucy is dead. They all left on the same day."

Gran's face was wooden as she said this, but Charley's crumpled as she cried.

"Charley! Charley, come here, time to go!"

Charley wiped her eyes and followed the sound of her mother's voice, out to the car waiting in the driveway.

Charley walked slowly out of St. Charles'. She'd been thinking about what her grandmother had said, and asking God to help her figure it out, but hadn't had much enlightenment.

Then she saw the flower.

St Charles' lawn was well-kept, so well-kept in fact that Charley thought the caretaker must measure each blade of grass to the nearest millimeter to ensure that they were the same length. But there, heroically holding its golden head high, growing defiantly in the middle of the green desert, was a dandelion. Charley dashed over to the weed and plucked it. The broken stem oozed dandelion juice and stickied her palms, but Charley didn't notice. All she saw was the perfection of that dandelion. It had scores of tiny brilliant petals. Its stem was spring green and smooth. A tiny black bug crawled out of the bloom's center and Charley marveled at how small a flower was so large a home.

And Charley knew that God was good.

"Let's go, Gran's waiting for us!" It was her father.

Charley held the flower tight the whole ride home, praying it wouldn't wilt. Before her father shut off the car she burst out and raced into the house.

"Gran!" she shouted.

"Gran, I have something to show you!"

But Gran didn't answer.

At the funeral two days later, Charley wept, and prayed to the One who made dandelions to have mercy on her Gran.