Asking Why

How many times can one person ask “why”?

Not sure, but a million isn’t the last number, I do know that.

Why did Rick not make better choices when he could? When it might have made a difference?

Why did others speak so hateful and negative to him in the midst of his confusion and pain?

Why did he listen to them, instead of rising up to fight even harder?

Why did God not intervene in a bigger and greater way – to heal him?

Why did Rick die at 55 instead of 95?

Why did he have to die, a good man, who loved me, who loved his family?

Why do I have to be a widow, when all I ever wanted was to be his wife?

I didn’t start this fire of questions, but they rise like smoke from the ashes of my life.

They curl around my mind and heart.

They sting my eyes with tears.

They suffocate my sleep, and my waking hours.

They are like buzzards circling – wide and merciless.

There should be answers – but in the hollowness of space and time, there are none.

I chase after the answers that are not there.

Then I chase the questions away – or try to.

Surely, if I chase hard enough, long enough, in the right direction, and after the right things – surely I will find something that makes even a little bit of sense!

The only thing I find?

Loss refuses to speak the language of logic.

Loss does not negotiate, nor explain.

Loss also does not apologize for the pain.

What loss does is find its way through the locked door of love and treasure 

– takes what is most precious and leaves its fingerprints on everything.

So here I sit, again, time after time, morning after night, sifting through my memories.

Looking for clues, reviewing these moments like some kind of surveillance tape after the crime of a broken heart.

I pick apart every decision Rick, or I, or we, ever made.

Every second, every minute, every hour and every day.

Every meal we ate.

Every conversation we had.

Every breath we took, and every move we made.

Like I am some kind of detective on a hard cold case, I can’t stop.

Just one more angle, one more replay.

Maybe just one more whispered “Why”.

And there will be an answer.

I am learning something.

Slowly.

I will only exhaust myself trying to find the fairness in it all.

Trying to figure out the “why”.

Looking for the logic in the taking.

Searching for that reason to make his absence hurt less.

There is only the silence –

Not the kind that just fills a room, but the kind that settles itself into my soul.

The kind that makes my own heartbeat sound different.

You know, a broken heart does sound different than one that isn’t broken.

And yet . . .

But God.

In the midst of all the ruin,

In the midst of the shattered why’s and unanswered questions,

In the midst of my bruised faith,

And these nights that never seem to end –

There is a strangeness to Mercy and Grace.

It’s not the kind of Mercy and Grace that fixes anything –

But it’s the kind that keeps me from collapsing into a heap under the weight of what no one can fix.

A Mercy and Grace that whispers –

“You don’t have to understand in order to survive.”

“You don’t have to solve what broke you.”

“You don’t have to have the answers to keep on going.”

No, I don’t understand why it all happened.

No, I don’t like being a widow – I loved being a wife.

No, I don’t have to have the answers – no matter how much I want them.

But I know this – and it’s not easy to admit, or to accept –

The same God Who owes me no explanation sits with me in the questions.

The same God Who sees the fires around me, feels them with me.

The same God Who hears my cries, catches my tears.

And somehow – impossible as it feels and seems –

That is enough, for this morning, this moment, this today.

I will just breathe this thought over and over - -

Maybe healing isn’t found in the why – what would the answers change?

Maybe healing is found in the God Who stays, even when the why’s still circle.

Struggle with the quiet and stillness of the house.

Struggle with loneliness, with the memories of long ago Saturdays.

Struggle with guilt. 

I hope today to “win” in the struggles.

To enjoy the quiet and stillness of the house – letting it propel me into concentration for accomplishing something, even if just to let my soul breathe and my body rest.

To use the memories – letting them push me into creating memories of going forward – even alone 😉

To just stop the guilt. 

LORD GOD . . . I ask for strength, Grace and Mercy. Today. Tomorrow. And this week.

LORD GOD . . . please, help me focus and do. 

I can’t do this alone. 

GOD . . . please, show me, teach me, and help me - - with the HOW.