That 3-Letter Word We All Use

I was driving home from church that Sunday morning, 11 years ago today. It was January 27, 2008. I was traveling past the airport, less than 10 minutes left in my almost 30-minute drive home. Even though it was the end of January, it wasn’t very cold outside. I remember the sun was shining and I was enjoying the warmth of the sun against my skin. When the phone beeped, I looked down and saw it was one of my sisters. There was nothing unusual about that. With the time difference between where we lived, she was always out of church an hour before I was. And it wasn’t that unusual to chat a few on a Sunday evening. But when I answered, I certainly wasn’t expecting the news she delivered.

My dad had passed away in his sleep overnight.

It didn’t really register with me what was being said. The word I do remember thinking about as I drove the rest of the way home, was “why?”

I mean, I wondered about how he passed, and I wanted to know the situation about when, where, and how he was discovered. But even days later, the one question that I couldn’t help thinking about was why?

Why so soon, while I was still numb from losing my mom less than three years earlier?

Why did both of my parents seem to struggle a lot with health issues, and didn’t seem to get a chance to really enjoy their middle adult years?

Why did most of my friends seem to have healthy parents, even living grandparents, while I spent most of my adult life watching mine go in and out of the hospital with various ailments, which ultimately contributed to both of their deaths.

It’s human nature to ask questions. And when something happens that we don’t understand or agree with, it’s natural to ask the question…Why?

Why did our loved one have to die?

Why did our marriage fall apart?

Why did a relationship not work out, or a friendship end?

Why did we get an illness when we worked so hard to live a healthy lifestyle?

I’ve often thought it was unfair that some people lived dangerous and reckless lives, smoking, drinking and driving, doing drugs, eating whatever they want…and live for a long time. While others try to make good decisions, and pass away so young?

Why did a friend we trusted, betray us?

Why does that boss keep ignoring us?

Why are we still childless, while so many other women seem to have no challenges with conceiving?

Why haven’t we found our soul mate, when other people find theirs without trying? Or get a second or third chance at love when we’re still waiting for our first?

I don’t know if it would be great, or indifferent to actually get the answer to some of our questions. But I do know that God doesn’t mind us asking.

As I heard one pastor say, “God can take your hard questions.” I honestly don’t know if I can take what might be hard answers.

So what are we to do, as we struggle with our grief, with that 3-letter word always on our mind?

We pray.

Then we ask others to pray with us and for us.

And then we pray some more, asking for the ability to move on, to accept what is, in spite of the fact that we may never get the answers to our questions. And to have the grace to be okay with that.