The most painful moment of my entire life so far was when I told my dieing grandmother “Thanks.” I couldn’t say anything else but that one, single word. I wanted to thank her for encouraging me to get an education, for coming to my college and graduate school graduations, for saying that she was proud of me for making an education a priority in my life. I wanted to thank her for being a good example of a godly woman: wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother. I wanted to say so much more. I just couldn’t say all of those words–especially with so many other family members watching and the tears streaming down my face. I just couldn’t.
And now I have to ask God why such an experience had to happen to me. We all ask “why?” don’t we? And even now, as I’m writing this, I’m searching for a possible reason God would allow or create an opportunity for me to feel such pain inside–pain so great that only one word could escape my mouth as my lungs gasped for air between sobs.
Recently, two dear friends of mine introduced me to a blog (www.klarefamily.blogspot.com) written by a mother who learned she was carrying conjoined twins. The twins, Grace and Hope, shared some internal organs, one of which was the heart. Throughout the blog, Lucia, the mother, reveals her inner-most thoughts–fears, joys, faith. Her ongoing pains cannot be understood by everyone. Her daughters died after a short, short, 46-minute life. That’s a pain I cannot imagine. And I could never imagine having the faith she had throughout her pregnancy and since the birth and death of two darling daughters.
Not everyone asks God why they have to go through the things they experience. But one beautiful thing about our relationship with Christ is that we’re allowed to ask Him “Why?” We’re allowed to call life events into question. Sometimes, we never get an answer; maybe the best we get out of it is learning how we can be of assistance to our brothers and sisters in their times of crisis.
The truth is this: we are not exempt from sadness and pain just because we believe in Jesus. My friend/pastor shared a story of an experience he had in Florida, when he went swimming with the sharks. A little boy was behind him in line and said to his father, “Are the sharks going to be in a different tank?” His father told him that that the sharks were in the same tank, but that they’d be far enough away that everyone would be fine. The truth is this: we will be fine if we trust in Him. And “trusting in Him” doesn’t mean that we don’t get to ask questions. Job asked God questions throughout his torturous life events. And, yet, he remained faithful to God.
And I can’t help but to jump from the thought of trusting God and being allowed to question Him to a discussion on God as our heavenly Father. My earthly father and I generally enjoy a nice long conversation. I guess he was always the one person I could talk with about the Bible who wouldn’t act like I was an idiot when I didn’t know something and he never judged me; he would encourage me to read the Word and to learn as much as I could about it on my own. But I could always ask him questions. He would always do his very best to answer me. It’s the same with our Father, only He’s perfect. And, just like our own parents, sometimes His answer is, “Because I say so,” or “Just wait and see” or, my personal [un]favorite, “Trust me.”
And it’s a good thing we’re allowed to ask questions, too. Seth will tell you that I ask a lot of questions, especially when I’m in unfamiliar territory. We went to France this summer. Everything there was new to me. I asked questions about everything, assuming he was well-informed of everything. After a while, I learned that he, too, was exploring all of these places for the first time. Still, my questions came out of my mouth. I wonder things aloud–even in my own house, living alone. I’m a question-asker and I don’t intend to stop. But it’s just my luck: God isn’t asking me to.