For a time, my soul cried out.
“Why? Why Mattias? Why my baby? He was such a good boy. So sweet. So happy. Why?”
And there were those who answered.
“Jesus just needed your baby boy more than you did.”
“The Lord needed that smile to brighten Heaven.”
“God was short an angel.”
“Isn’t it an honor — a compliment — a privilege — that God deems you worthy of this trial?”
I never know how to respond to these insights into the ways of God. I prefer wrestling with why. It isn’t such a faith shattering question that it needs to be swept under the rug. Crying out why does not mean that our faith is weak, nor that we have placed ourselves in judgment of God.
“Why?” is a statement of belief.
Else why would we ask Him anything at all?
It is a recognition of His power and presence in our lives
We know what He could have done. We just don’t understand why He didn’t.
It is a recognition that God is good.
That is why it is so difficult to reconcile the death of a loved one with what we know about God. But from the depths of my being, I am plagued with a feeling that This. Just. Isn’t. Right. It hurts, not just emotionally, but physically. It leaves me nauseous and makes breathing difficult. My limbs feel heavy, as if they’ve turned to lead. This is not the way it was supposed to be.
And it isn’t. In six days, God created a world of beauty, hope and perfect communion with Him. That was destroyed by sin, and death entered the world. Today, our lives are for the most part pretty easy. Life expectancy has increased so much in the last 100 years that you can conceivably reach retirement without losing anyone closer to you than a grandparent. What we consider trials are often really no more than annoyances.
Amidst our taken-for-granted blessings, we forget that all of creation groans under the weight of the penalty of sin.
Until it touches us and we groan alongside it.
Until it touches us and we realize this is not the way it was supposed to be.
Until it touches us and we cry out, “Why?”