Stuff.

I've had the opportunity to do some pretty heavy thinking the past few days.  It is the kind of thinking that makes my head hurt. It is the kind done with a heavy heart, prompted by one of those events that make me ask Why?

And I started thinking about the fact that when something wonderful happens in our lives, we don't ask Why? That isn't to say we take the blessing for granted, but we don't question why it is happening to us or for us. But when the bad stuff happens, the stuff we can't make any sense of, the stuff that happens to people it shouldn't, or the stuff that doesn't happen for the people it should, we begin to ask the big questions.

Several years ago when I first decided I didn't have the answers, but was pretty sure God did, I went through a period of not asking those hard questions. For some reason, I thought God would think I was questioning His judgment.  But then some stuff began reemerging in my life. Stuff I didn't want to deal with. Stuff I thought was buried away.  Then some other stuff began to happen. It was new stuff. Stuff I didn't have a clue how to approach.  And one day when God was feeling very far away, I just finally spit it out: Why?

And to my amazement, nothing happened. The earth didn't open up and consume me.  The clouds didn't part and send down a great bolt of lightning to strike me gone. So as I am prone to do in poker or at yellow lights, I pressed my luck. I decided to ask a few more honest questions. And next thing I knew, I was a having a dialogue of sorts with the creator of the Universe. The one who knew my heart, but wanted me to know His character. The one who knew mine and knew I was living out of sorts. I had been faking it, this faith thing.

Don't take this to mean that I have it all figured out. I don't.  Not even a little.  In fact, God and I are still talking it out, as we should be.  But I know this: He gave me permission to ask Why? and know that He will not turn away in anger. The answers don't come easily, but if we just listen and look, reassurance will come. Often quietly when we least expect it. Maybe we hear it as a whisper in our ear. A soft sigh. An exhale. A taking of our hand in the darkest hour. A promise that there will be light again when we feel like the sun has no reason to shine.