My husband says I may be the most amazing question-asking machine in the world.
I have an insatiable desire to know…anything…everything. It’s been a blessing and a curse, propelling me down the path that led to God, but also occasionally overwhelming and exasperating the unfortunate people in my world.
Oh, if only camcorders had been around when I was a child and my parents could have captured for all posterity the multitudinous questions that rattled off my tongue like a machine gun!
“Why does Donna in my class have brown skin? Why would anybody want to live on a farm like Grandma and Grandpa and not have any stores or movies to go to? How come boys don’t have to do stupid things like washing dishes and wearing dresses? Why can’t I be a football player when I grow up?”
My questions are sometimes more sophisticated now, but my curiosity is just as relentless. That’s why I majored in journalism – so I could ask questions and get paid for it. What a deal.
As with most of our personality quirks, we don’t usually think they’re quirky at all. I didn’t realize I asked an inordinate number of questions until I was in my 30s and a tennis buddy turned to me one day and said, “You ask more questions than anyone I’ve ever known!”
“I do?” I asked. (Ooops, another question.)
I tell myself it is an endearing trait because I’m pretty sure I’ll never change.
While I may drive people nuts, I believe God can handle my questions. He doesn’t always answer them, but He never seems to mind me asking, as long as I am honest, respectful and willing to accept His answers…or His silence.
Nevertheless, I have learned there are times when the compulsion to understand is pointless and painful.
Twenty-five years ago, my husband and I lost our first baby five months into my pregnancy. I was a church youth director at the time, and my life up until then had been pretty smooth. I didn’t realize it, but I had subtly begun treating God like a heavenly vending machine, trusting that if I put in the right “coins,” He’d pop out the blessings.
Losing our baby didn’t make sense to me and I remained stuck spinning in the “why” cycle for many months, desperately trying to understand why God had allowed this tragedy to break my heart. Understanding, I erroneously thought, would enable me to protect myself from ever hurting that way again.
After months of futile questioning, I surrendered my need to understand and humbly laid my weary, grieving heart at the feet of Jesus.
The window to Heaven, which had seemed so closed and silent, began to open wide, as God brought comfort, healing, and in time, some insight.
If you’re wrestling with some painful “whys” in your life, here’s my advice: It’s okay to ask questions, but don’t get stuck there. Trust God’s character and His love for you. Lay down your need to understand and let Him answer the deeper cries of your heart.
It’s not trite: Life is hard, but God is good. Sometimes I still want to know “why,” but more than that, I know I need to remember “who.” Who is in control? Who loves me?
The answer is, “Jesus,” and that is enough, even for the most amazing question-asking machine in the world.
“He (God) heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3