Asking The Questions

 It's an interesting feeling when God questions you. I'm well aware of the feeling of questioning God... believe me, that dialogue has happened a lot. But it's interesting when God flips the conversation back around and starts asking the questions of you. I'm not sure we're always prepared for that. But it seems to be a common part of the journey of making sense of your suffering - God wanting to probe your deepest thoughts and test what you believe and know. God making you answer the tough things in order to clarify who you are and where this adversity will take you.   

He did it with Job in the Bible. On a human level, Job had no context for why his ill health, loss, and tragedy befell him. He didn't know about the heavenly conversation between God and the Devil and what it was really all about: to try his faith. All he knew is that a whole lot of unexpected and painful things hit him in the same season of life. (I think some of us can probably relate). His wife only added to his misery with her cynical attitude, his friends poured salt in an already-open wound by offering words of correction instead of words of comfort. As it all got worse and Job began to hit the rock-bottom point of his suffering, God sat him down and began an extensive monologue, asking Job tough questions like, "where were you when I created the world?" God's intention, in that lowest moment, was to shift Job's perspective. By asking him some difficult questions, he wanted Job to come to the exact conclusion he eventually did: I didn't understand what You were doing, but now I see clearly, and I'm sorry. 

Submission. Always the goal of God in every trial. 

I recently had my own moment like this as I was sitting in a local coffee shop, visiting with dear friends who have been part of my life for close to two decades and are moving soon. I have always been able to enjoy deep, edifying conversations with these people, and we were talking about transitions we've all been having of late. For both myself and them, we've been going through massive adjustments in our relationships, jobs, and perspectives thanks to unexpected changes God has asked of us. And we've all had to wrestle with our feelings and questions because of it. It has necessitated discernment on our part as well as trust in God's leading, even if it's meant some very meaningful chapters closed as a result. 

As we sat there that morning and spent precious remaining minutes with one another, I glanced around the room. Surprisingly, I noticed varied aspects of my life-chapters represented in the place all at once: a friend I graduated from high school with who's back in town for a visit, a former piano student I taught for a couple years, a pastor of a church I partnered with in ministry for several years, and the new head of the non-profit I recently left after eight years of work. Between all of these snapshots, there were many emotions involved - some good, some bad. But they all represented, for the most part, closed chapters. And here I was, sitting with sweet friends and anticipating yet another transition: long-distance relationship for the very first time. 

One of my friends drops a key bit of wisdom as we speak and reminds me that leadership can be lonely sometimes. At that moment, I had to sit back and pay attention to what God was saying. As I looked around and saw several closed doors and completed chapters, I felt in my soul that He was also turning my questions around and now asking me, Are you okay with this? Are you okay with letting go and moving on? And I started to see that God is behind it all, even the endings we so desperately want to keep. The dislocation of our lives is still part of His plan and sometimes, when He asks you to leave something or even someone behind, it's with a good thing in mind. 

But even as we know this, it can still be difficult to have faith in what is ahead and be willing to let go of a season that was highly meaningful to you. Both my friends and I all were feeling that in different ways. We are grieving the endings and, from a human standpoint, we should. Necessary transitions aren't easy. They require uprooting parts of your life that you love and want to keep the way they are. And yet, even as I looked around the room and thought about what my friend said about the solitary way of following, there was a strange peace in my soul that assured me, I am somehow okay with leaving these things behind. God is doing a new thing in my life and, for whatever reason, He's making it clear I can't bring some things with me. I need to let go and be alright with moving on. 

Perhaps the questions God is asking of you are different. Maybe He's testing your faith and hope in ways that are completely opposite from me. But I can promise you that He's probably still speaking and inquiring of you nonetheless. He is sitting all of us down, as He did Job, and leading us into conversations that are meant to spark change and perspective shift. And the intent is that we end up the same as Job did, in a posture of submission. We won't often understand, in the moment, what God is doing. And the closing chapters of our life can be incredibly sad or even lonely. Being obedient and following God can ask sacrifices and losses of you that feel unfair or even cruel. But, at the end of the day, does God's testing and questioning drive you towards contrition and faith? 

Part of me left that coffee shop more clarified, and part of me still left just as uncertain as when I came. Some questions can't be answered overnight. We have to live our way into them. But as long as we don't fight them... as long as we lean into them and let them do their work, we'll discover what God was after all along. It may take years for that to happen. But the process is its own type of refining and the discerning it takes to figure it out shapes our hearts in ways we would otherwise miss out on. 

So don't run from those times God begins to question you. Job didn't, and neither should we. There's something healthy about God asking us these tough things - a mending in the wounding that, mysteriously, leads us to the ultimate place of belief.