Why

     Yesterday was kind of hard. Work was not as productive as it should have been, but while waiting for problems to be solved, I had some unexpected, good conversations with coworkers. That was a blessing. Late in the afternoon, a sweet coworker's new boyfriend came in, and I hate to admit it, but seeing them leave together made me sink into a sadness I didn't see coming. 

     I've found out about six new couples among my friend groups in the last two weeks. I am going to four weddings this fall. Countless others are paired up with someone. Things are happening for all these people. I have thanked God for each of these relationships, because it's obvious that He's working in many peoples' lives right now in good ways. But yesterday afternoon, it hit me heavily - the waiting, the disappointments in my own life that have been repeated so many times I've started to lose count. I try to be truly happy for those who are getting what I long for, but my thoughts don't lie, nor do my feelings in this case: it is hard. A lump formed in my throat on the drive home from work as I prayed about it, telling God how I felt and asking for all my cries to be heard and answered soon. I prayed that I would wait quietly and patiently on Him, and that He would either change my circumstances or change me, or both. It's in these moments that faith is on auto-pilot. I seem to have run out of new prayers, but I pray everything I can think to pray again and again, counting on the fact that He is listening. Days like this leave me with many thought-questions that teeter on the brink of exasperated confusion: Why? Why has it been like this? Why has nothing worked out? Why have I lost so many people that I cared about? Why does it happen for other people but not me? Why does it still hurt, even after years of working on and asking for contentment?

     Oh, I know what the correct answers are to all of those questions and all the rest that I ask. I could write them right here, actually. And maybe I should, because sometimes they do help. But it's in these low and painful moments that I end up asking them anyway. It's like when someone dies. You know why there was death - she was sick, his heart stopped beating, etc. etc. And yet you keep asking...why?? You ask because even though you know the answer, your brain and heart cannot understand the answer like you want to. The answer is wider and deeper than human understanding.

     Here's what I do know about the question why: it's there in every single person's life for a reason. If it's not "why hasn't God brought me a godly man," then it's something else. I am not alone in asking God why, and if I had someone else's why, I'd probably want mine back. But they are all meant to point to Him. That is the point. Asking God "why" can lead to bitterness, entitlement, self-pity, and unending sorrow. Been there, done that. But it can also be the very thing that pushes you to sit with Him in your pain. I recently had to write an 11 page paper on Revelation 21:1-4, where God promises us a new heaven and new earth with no more tears, sorrow, pain, or death. Those words are for me. They're for every saint who ever lived, because we're all born into a broken world and we're all hurting in one way or another. We long and ache for things that aren't guaranteed us instead of being delightfully shocked by God's promises that we don't even deserve. I praised God as I wrote that paper, knowing that a perfect world is my future, where even my longings are rightly ordered for God alone. In those moments that I sat with my computer and Bible open, mulling over the promises of the new heaven and new earth again and again in my head, I had a better perspective on life. It is so obvious that His presence is our greatest blessing - both now and then - yet we skip right over it as if it's not enough and we need more. When I listen to the self-proclaimed script for my life up until now, it is a sorry story with the wrong plots to begin with. My script is a lie. It is not what God has written about me. God's script is true, and it is one of love.