"But, Why": Unanswered Prayers and Wavering Faith

I remember, at three years old, Owen reciting his favorite phrase at least 50 million times a day: "but why, Momma?" I can recall my monotonous reply like it was yesterday, "because I said so, Owen." Not that I didn't want to explain why the clouds were white, why the grass was green or why we had to eat food and drink water to live. It's just that my answer usually just provoked more questions. Most of the time, my response would suffice and he would just let things go, questions unanswered. But he was rarely happy about it. If I felt I could explain the answer and its entirety, I would. But there were just some things I couldn't explain due to his age and his ability to comprehend.

Isn't prayer like this for most of us? We want to know why. I've been through moments in my life when I thought my heart would crush inside of me because it couldn't withstand any more emotional pain. I've had a miscarriage after praying for months to conceive. I've had tear-filled nights in a hospital bed with my four week old baby, as he clawed my skin, writhing in pain, while I'm crying, begging, asking God to do something...wondering where He is? I've had seasons in my marriage where I did everything in my power to end it...with no hope, it seemed like the best option. I've experienced the loss of a friend who hung herself at fifteen years old. I can remember sitting on my bed, asking God why he didn't let me get to her sooner.

Prayer is a bit of a paradox. It allows us to take our concerns to God but can leave us with a question mark still lingering. When the answer is not crystal clear, we feel God has forsaken us. But let's be honest, if God answered every prayer with a resounding "yes," would that make Him a loving Father? What if he had granted my wish to end my marriage? I would've lived the rest of my life in regret and miss out on the deep roots we now have. A loving parent will always answer a child's request with their best interest in mind. We allow our child to experience things that will make them grow. Sometimes those are fun, joyful experiences. And sometimes they are painful. The harder questions tend to cause us to question God even more: why do I suffer with this rare disease? Why did my child have to die early? Why did I lose my family in a tragic accident? Those are so hard to fight through. As a parent, the Lord knows we can't begin to understand the purpose in our trials and tragedy. But He offers us truth: He loves us. That everything, health and calamity, good times and bad, will be used for His glory AND our good. They go hand in hand. George MacDonald explains it best when he said, "He that prays and does not faint will come to recognize that to talk with God is more than to have all prayers granted, all questions answered- that would be the end of all need for prayer."

In God's wisdom, he didn't grant my request to end my marriage. Instead, he gave me a husband that didn't give up. Romance is a lot like a flaming fire. When you first begin, it's hot and heavy. The flames
are blazing. Your emotions are soaring. You enjoy the beauty of the flame and the warmth it provides, and you spend a lot of time stoking the fire, adding wood and working to bring that flame back. As time passes, those flames begin to sizzle into coals. In my short years, I assumed the coals were bad. If the fire wasn't flaming hot, something had to be wrong. The Lord taught me to enjoy the coals. You can roast marshmallows there. You can cook hot dogs there. You can warm your feet. You can rest there.

The Lord and I have been through many seasons together. I've had many unanswered prayers. Many question marks have been given the repetitive "because I said so" reply. Our relationship that began many years ago as a roaring flame has finally begun to sizzle into coals. It's soothing to be content, to feel at peace with the questions, to rest by the coals, confident in my faith. More importantly, confident in the One in whom my faith resides. By the dwindling fire, the question marks become reminders that I am the child of a Loving Father whose thoughts and ways are higher than mine. "Because I said so," begins to sound a lot more like "Because I love you."