So our house flooded again. No, I mean AGAIN again. Like for the second time in three weeks, the third time in 25 months. The fourth time in 8 years. At least no one was living there this time.
But it sort of makes one wonder what God is up to.
I mean, to quote two songs with differing but pertinent perspectives, he's got the whole world in his hands YET his eye is on the sparrow. In other words, while the great and glorious God of the universe is concerned about global issues, including war in Ukraine and human trafficking and the national debt, he is also mindful of every detail of our lives, including inclement weather, late-night trips to urgent care, and a soggy-little house in Spangle.
He knows my house flooded again. He knew before I did. I didn't have to notify him of the problem.
But a heart-cry question clamors to be quenched, the ever-present poser that accompanies every human tragedy: "Why?"
Have you ever noticed that God rarely answers "WHY"?
Perhaps "Why?" is the wrong question.
Maybe the better question is "Who?" Who will help me? Who will lead me? Who will show me what to do?
Or how about "What?" What are you teaching me? What are you accomplishing? What are you redeeming?
Then there's "How?" How can I trust you more? How can I praise you better? How can I experience your grace?
There's an animated version of the story of Joseph called Prince of Egypt, and when Joseph is falsely accused and imprisoned for a crime that he didn't commit, he, too, was tempted to ask, "Why?" He sings his solution to this age-old question, declaring, "You know better than I. You know the way. I've let go the need to know why, for you know better than I."
Trusting in the one who knows best, can I let go of the need to know why? Because honestly, I have seen that question destroy people. I have seen that question torment people. I have seen that question imprison people.
I'm not saying I shouldn't ask the question. I am saying that I shouldn't demand an answer. I can trust God in the midst of not knowing.
And God does not demand a blind trust, because my trust is not in his willingness to explain himself to me, my trust is in the constancy and perfection of his character: He is good. Always. He is faithful. Always. He is kind. Always. He is just. Always. He is able. Always.
Because I know my savior, I can let go of the need to know why. He knows better than I.
But it sort of makes one wonder what God is up to.
I mean, to quote two songs with differing but pertinent perspectives, he's got the whole world in his hands YET his eye is on the sparrow. In other words, while the great and glorious God of the universe is concerned about global issues, including war in Ukraine and human trafficking and the national debt, he is also mindful of every detail of our lives, including inclement weather, late-night trips to urgent care, and a soggy-little house in Spangle.
He knows my house flooded again. He knew before I did. I didn't have to notify him of the problem.
But a heart-cry question clamors to be quenched, the ever-present poser that accompanies every human tragedy: "Why?"
Have you ever noticed that God rarely answers "WHY"?
Perhaps "Why?" is the wrong question.
Maybe the better question is "Who?" Who will help me? Who will lead me? Who will show me what to do?
Or how about "What?" What are you teaching me? What are you accomplishing? What are you redeeming?
Then there's "How?" How can I trust you more? How can I praise you better? How can I experience your grace?
There's an animated version of the story of Joseph called Prince of Egypt, and when Joseph is falsely accused and imprisoned for a crime that he didn't commit, he, too, was tempted to ask, "Why?" He sings his solution to this age-old question, declaring, "You know better than I. You know the way. I've let go the need to know why, for you know better than I."
Trusting in the one who knows best, can I let go of the need to know why? Because honestly, I have seen that question destroy people. I have seen that question torment people. I have seen that question imprison people.
I'm not saying I shouldn't ask the question. I am saying that I shouldn't demand an answer. I can trust God in the midst of not knowing.
And God does not demand a blind trust, because my trust is not in his willingness to explain himself to me, my trust is in the constancy and perfection of his character: He is good. Always. He is faithful. Always. He is kind. Always. He is just. Always. He is able. Always.
Because I know my savior, I can let go of the need to know why. He knows better than I.
This is one of my favorite songs, Aunt Jenn - great post. Love you!
ReplyDeleteI found this song on itunes and put it on my ipod a while back and have it on my regular playlist bc I need to be reminded of this so very often!
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