If you’re just now reading for the first time, you can catch up in a little more detail on how over two years of trying for a baby has led to the discovery I’m not God, but that’s not a bad thing after all. And then there was the lesson in celebration. But for today, we’re going to talk questions and answers…
If we were to be completely honest, answers aren’t really what we need. Answers are welcome and rare and much appreciated when they’re realized (usually in hindsight), but we trick ourselves into thinking it’s answers we most want.
I thought I wanted answers too. I wanted to know all the reasons behind my delay in the blessing of a baby. I thought if only God could show me why He’s worked out my past the way it is, then I could have perfect peace of mind in trusting His timing for my present and my future. I have an intrinsic need-to-know piece that flags an alert anytime part of my life doesn’t seem to make sense. Do you do the same? Do you fight the lines that don’t fit into your version of the story?
My autobiographical account had me a mom two years ago. Clearly, I’m not the real author. But some significant lessons were learned when I trashed my own draft and reluctantly leaned into the unknown. I learned over the last two years my greatest need is not logic or order or a predictable future. My greatest need isn’t to have my life make sense. I may cry from my lips for an answer, but I crave from my heart for an author. If we were to be completely honest, we’d see we don’t really crave God’s intelligence, we crave Him.
It was on a day I found myself particularly frustrated over all the loose ends of my life. Months and months of prayers and hopes for a child had gone seemingly unanswered and ignored by God. He obviously wasn’t interested in answers at the moment, so naturally I carried my mountain of questions to the next closest companion. Trent probably wished he’d taken a rain check on life that afternoon, but it was too late. My frustrations fell like an avalanche while my eyes welled up with tears. True to his nature, he took a solid three minutes of silence before offering me any words. Sometimes it drives me crazy, but most of the time that’s just because I wish I would’ve done the same before I’d started my own discourse.
His profound first words… I don’t know.
I didn’t even know what to think… Really?! Did it really take three minutes to come up with that??
True to my own nature, I’d already formulated my reply before he was done.
What he went on to tell me changed the way I see fertility challenges. It changed my mindset from questioning to contentment, and it changed my view of God’s silence and His sovereignty.
I don’t know. I don’t have answers. But I also know you don’t need them. Until you learn to rest in Jesus, you’ll always have your questions. Cuz guess what? Once we have a baby, it’ll just be something else. You don’t need God to tell you why you’re on the path you’re on…you really just need Him to walk you through it.
It was my turn to be silent. I may have been a little quiet partly because I knew he was right, but mostly I was silent because it felt like someone took the blinders off my eyes and the weights off my shoulders. He showed me for the first time in all my challenges with fertility what it was that I really want. And that wasn’t answers.
I’m not the only one with questions. And to be perfectly honest, my questions pale in comparison with the mom cuddling her cancer-sick baby, the recently-widowed newlywed or the dad with the bad diagnosis. The human condition begs for answers.
I don’t have them. You probably don’t either. But there is freedom found in the unknown. More specifically, there is freedom found in I don’t know. I need an anchor, not an answer. And God is waiting, not always with words, to walk me through.
Trent was right, and this time, just this time, I’ll admit it. I don’t know reasons and he doesn’t either, but relationship—not reasons—is what we need. I need to know in fertility challenges and child-raising challenges and marriage challenges and any other hardship or heartbreak that I may or may not have answers, but I’ll always have my Author.
And that he’s there to walk me through it all.