Questioning God

I’ve heard it said that you shouldn’t question God. I beg to differ. I’ve questioned God many times throughout my life. Sure, there is something to be said for trust and faith, but at the same time questioning isn’t necessarily bad. As humans we are incapable of understanding the mind of God, so it is natural that we would question sometimes. That being said, while I may question Him on occasion, I also know, deep down, that He knows best. As the Bible says, He is the author and perfecter of my faith. What does that mean, exactly?

God knows I’m going to question him. It’s in my nature. I imagine he sits up there in Heaven, rolling his eyes at me quite often. He probably gets tired of me questioning. I sometimes tire of it myself and wonder why my faith can’t just be steadfast, like a rock. Yes, I trust God. I’d be a fool not to, after everything. Let me explain.

A couple years ago I was going through a very rough patch in my life. I had turned away from God, and decided that I alone knew what was best for me. I’m sure you can imagine how well that went. Down the rabbit hole I went, deeper and deeper, darker and darker, until I had reached bottom. I didn’t know what I was going to do, how I was going to manage what I needed to manage. There was just no possible way. As days turned into weeks my despair reached a boiling point, until one night I found myself sitting at work, completely losing my mind. I don’t mean that figuratively, either. I could literally feel my mind slipping slowly away. Everything had become hazy. I was trying to talk to my “battle buddy” and was getting nowhere. How could I, when my brain had reached a point where absolutely nothing made sense?

My heart was racing. My pulse quickened. My breathing was so shallow and fast that I was practically hyperventilating on the production floor. And then came the tears. The frustration and uncertainty had become too much. I could take no more. I imagine that this is what people feel like right before checking themselves into (or being forced into) a mental health facility. About the time the tears started I jumped up, quickly snatched my SmartCard from the reader and made a beeline toward the back doors. Moments later I was leaning up against the wall outside, outwardly crying, inwardly screaming.

I’m sure you’ve heard the old adage that God will not give us more than we can bear. I always thought there wasn’t much truth to that saying. After all, we bear what we must. What other choice is there? There’s not a choice, actually. That much is clear. I bore what I could, and when the weight became so overpowering that I couldn’t take anymore, my mind started to shut down. Maybe that’s the body’s way of protecting itself from extreme, dangerous levels of stress. That’s the point when most people cry out to God, but at that point, God wasn’t even on my mind. Fortunately, I was on his.

“Peace. Be still.”

The words hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. This audible voice in my ear, soft, caring, loving. In an instant my tears dried up, goosebumps covered my body, and I knew exactly what I was hearing. I guess God had grown tired of waiting for me to come back around and had reached out to me. And it was the most blissful moment I can remember. At that moment I knew exactly what I needed to do… shut my mouth and just listen.

“Okay, Lord. You’ve got my attention,” I said, a combination of awe and laughter in my voice. And listen I did. It’s not like I had much choice, either. For the next few weeks, everywhere I turned, there was the same message. Be still. I’d grab a phone to try and figure out who to call to work things out and there was the voice… “Be still.” I’d find myself in a sudden panic while driving to work, decide to turn on the radio as a distraction, and the first words I hear were “be still.” It was everywhere. So what’s a guy to do? I did my best to just be. And in the end.. that’s exactly what I needed.

Things started falling into place. The answers I had been searching for just fell into my lap. One thing after another just “worked out” perfectly. God was taking my situation and molding it, changing it, “fixing” it. It was almost as if He was just waiting for me to make a decision, to trust in Him, and then He went to work on my behalf. At that point, I had a new understanding of what it meant to have faith. I had reached a point where I just couldn’t deal with anything anymore, and God had taken over. As the Bible says, faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains. God had proven that to me. That doesn’t mean that I don’t still question, though. I still find myself wondering: Why me? How am I going to do this? Where do I start? What am I going to do? But I have to just remind myself that it’s all in God’s hands. My entire life is in God’s hands. Everything that I will ever be or do, God knows about, and He has a plan to get me there. I may not understand it, but I trust it. I have to. Because after hearing his voice in my darkest hour, how can I do otherwise?

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