Things Won't Fit

I have just started reading a book titled, "A Room with a View" by E.M. Forster. One little part inspires me to be happy because I am alive, not because I can explain everything. Here's the quote (context is of a father talking to a young lady about his son, who is bothered by something, she asks the father what it is that is bothering the son):

"The old trouble: things won't fit."

'What things?'

"The things of the universe. It is quite true. They don't."

'Oh, Mr Emerson, what ever do you mean?'

In his ordinary voice, so that she scarcely realized he was quoting poetry, he said:

'From far, from eve and morning

And yon twelve-winded sky

The stuff of life to knit me

Blew hither: here am I.'

George and I both know this, but why does it distress him? We know that we come from the winds, and that we shall return to them; that all life is perhaps a knot, a tangle, a blemish in the eternal smoothness. But why should this make us unhappy? Let us rather love one another, and work and rejoice. I don't believe in this world-sorrow.'

I read this section of my book while at the gym riding a stationary bike. After I read this, I closed the book to take a break from reading, looked up at the televisions and saw the tragic unfoldings of the shooting in Arizona of congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, and 11 other persons, including staffers and people at a public hearing. I am stricken by this story and feel sad and a little fearful.

I will pray for all the families involved and hug my little family tighter. Is there such thing as finding meaning in the pain?