There are mornings when the headlines are made while the world is still asleep, when we are jolted from bed by a report on the radio, a call on a cell phone, a knock on the door telling us there is something happening.

There are days when the news come to the news writers, when the stories are pounding so loudly on newsrooms across the country that there is no question or instinct involved in getting every word the world can offer to explain what has happened.

These days make great headlines. But they are never good days. They are turning points, days that are remembered because of the stories we take away from them.

There are too many stories to tell about Saturday’s tragedy, the deaths of the seven aboard Columbia, the theories as to what went wrong. And, 48 hours later, you have probably read them all.

What was forecast to be an uneventful landing burst into a tragic chain of events 38 miles above the country, and we could only watch our televisions, listen to the radio and jump on every news site we trust. We wait for what comes next, hoping it is an explanation. We think of the last time the world watched a tragedy in the air and wondered what had gone wrong.

But there is a story in the heart of Iowa that provides what little optimism may be drawn from something so tragic. There is a woman who sees the Star of Bethlehem amid the flames that rained down from the sky.

There is the story of the Ames couple who lost their son, Timothy, during the Sept. 11 attacks. This weekend, that story unfolded further as again the morning news brought word of another loss: Their niece was Laurel Clark, a mission specialist aboard Columbia, born in Ames.

Now, they are the Ames family who lost Timothy on Sept. 11 and Laurel on Feb. 1.

Douglas and Betty Haviland couldn’t fend off the telephone calls from the media. The press had the story about the Columbia tragedy. But now they wanted the Havilands’ story, for theirs is uniquely tragic.

So when it became clear they couldn’t stop the phone calls, they told the reporters and photographers they would be offering their story from their own home on their own time. Within minutes, the press was there, delicately walking among the Christmas decorations, asking their questions, getting the Havilands’ story.

They’ve spoken publicly about the loss of Timothy. They spoke again Saturday about the loss of Laurel.

Laurel is the one who brings this story back home.

And it is Douglas and Betty Haviland who bring this story into our hearts.

The day before the disaster, the Havilands received an e-mail from Laurel. They didn’t want to share the message in its entirety with the press, but they offered excerpts during the press conference, and they gave the world a glimpse into who Laurel was.

Before the conference began, everyone hushed to watch an official statement from NASA. At its end, Betty Haviland turned to speak to the press when someone piped up, “President Bush is going to speak next.”

“So?” Betty said, flipping off the television. And certainly, what Betty had to say was more likely to capture the hearts of Iowans anyhow. She knew the little girl who had longed to be up in space, long before NASA selected her in 1996, long before her years of training began.

Betty and Douglas know tragedy. But they know hope as well. Watching the amateur video footage on her television, Betty remarks that the fire in the sky looks a lot like the Star of Bethlehem falling. There is a nativity set still arranged in the living room. There is a “Joy To The World” sign near the front door.

The world wanted to know their story. In the last three days, they have been featured not only in local media, but on CNN with Larry King, on the CBS Evening News with Dan Rather.

Everyone wants to know their story, the one behind the tragic headlines. Amid a news frenzy, they offer what they can on their losses, something for the rest of us to cling to while trying to understand disaster.

There can be little joy in the face of what has happened. But there is strength in this elderly Ames couple. That, alone, is reason enough to force a smile on a day when the headlines hit home.

Cavan Reagan is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Bellevue, Neb. He is the editor in chief of the Daily.