In a small, moldy room at the bottom of the Christ Church, Mr. Andrews was going to be teaching a class. It wasn’t like the rest of his classes; those were all about God and His purpose for us. This class was his least favorite: grieving camp. Children between the ages of 6 and 15 would show up at the church to talk about their dead lovekjd ones and he was supposed to reassure them their loved ones were in heaven and that God did this for a reason. Yawn. He opened the basement door and waited for the depressed kids to trickle in. Today’s group was supposed to be larger than usual because last Wednesday, a car accident involving a drunk driver and a metro bus had killed 8 adults, many with children. In a matter of minutes there were about 15 kids in the room, a variety of ages. One child in particular gave him a headache. Her name was Ella, and her dad had died of brain cancer. When he allowed people to share why they were there, she jumped at the chance. Ella rambled.