I understand myself as part of a Christian narrative. Whatever I experience, I understand it as part of that story. My sister’s death from cancer made sense to me in a Christian way. It made sense to her in the same way, which is where she drew the hope that allowed her to bear her suffering and early death. Neither of us could make sense of it, but our faith told us that there was meaning in it, that nobody suffers in vain. This is a metaphysical conviction. In fact, it is what distinguishes hope from optimism: that even if the worst happens, it will not be absurd, but rather meaningful, even if we cannot perceive the meaning in this lifetime.