College-age youth across our nation watched in horror the senseless massacre at Virginia Tech.

They saw TV images of a mentally ill young man, eyes filled with cold, dark purpose born from years of smoldering anger against nameless rejection and hate for those who seemed better off. They heard that this was the biggest school tragedy ever in our country. They clung to friends, lit candles, sang hymns and cried, feeling a kinship to the dead students, in a family way, because they shared the same spots in their development and because it was a slaughter of innocents at what should be a time of hope and promise.

All over the world young adults read about the killings and drew closer to each other in compassion, their hearts sharing the sorrow with peers. Moved as part of the biggest family in history, they were brought together through technology that has made the world a smaller, more personal space.

Perhaps they felt the terrible loss more deeply than we elders. College students have classes and tests to worry about, temporarily lost to the outside world until something hits home. We, on the other hand, have regular vivid TV reports of deaths and dying, just shaking our weary heads and feeling a familiar tightening in our chests when we settle down for our morning coffee, thinking about Darfur and Iraq before we even open the newspaper.

This seems to be the never-ending saga of a dusty world fighting for cleanliness and the promises of homes and food. As time passes, the promises seem to be without substance. Somewhere, children are hungry. Somewhere, home is a wish of little substance.

Is the world ending? Some believe it is. Is there any hope for us? Of course there is.

Taped on my computer are a few words from I Peter 1:2425: "For all men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field: the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever." These words tell us of the short time for growth, blooming and a final season on earth before the human part of our life is over. A new life is waiting, softening the effects of loss because we have faith in eternity. Our time here is the blinking of God's eye, yet we waste so many hours shopping for things, wishing for things, wanting more things, and letting the opportunities for really living pass by us unclaimed. Without faith as an integral part of our living, emptiness follows where we once walked. With our deaths, all that we label important, if it does not involve love and service to our fellow man and nature, withers and indeed, dies; forever, gone.

Sometimes, tragedy is a wake-up call. It can be a tremendous jolt into questioning ourselves about our direction and goals. We stop to look at what's important and maybe change our personal path to include more awareness of hurts and needs around us. If we stop and see the suffering and reach out a hand, doing what we are called by faith to do, joy will be our reward as we see and feel that wonderful sense of purpose.

The flowers of the field may bloom for only a short time. It won't matter. We gather them, while smelling the fragrance of freshly cut grass, taking them home to bring beauty to our families and do what some call really live. That kind of living in the present will never die. When we care enough to step out and act for good, life is everlasting and we embrace it each day. Joy is ours forever if we do not forget the word of the Lord, and choose to live it. In that way, our loved ones live forever with us and peace is our reward on earth. No emptiness will follow our footsteps. Instead, special memories endure for many lifetimes, and we are blessed to really be a part of a heavenly family.

Janet Powell of Makaha wrote "Light in the Darkness of Reading Failure." She is a Christian who attends Won Buddhist International Center.