If we want things fixed, nailed down, and all figured out, living with questions will be miserable. Family therapist Virginia Satir so aptly stated, "Most people prefer the certainty of misery to the misery of uncertainty." But if we can get comfortable not having answers today, and get on with embracing the questions themselves, we can begin to relax and live in freedom.
My search for a love that was powerful enough to transform life began with the question "What is Real?" Asking that question opened the door, and relationships with friends became more transparent. A few seemed to hold little substance and fell by the wayside. I began to feel more alive.
The questions I once held back: "Do You love me?" "Why couldn't my marriage be saved?" "How can You forgive me when I've made so many mistakes?" were now being recognized, explored, occasionally pondered, and deeply valued. But they weren't always answered. As this realization began to creep into awareness, my once black-and-white life took on hues of Technicolor, one after another. I began to relax. Questions could be asked, but they no longer drove me crazy. When I asked, "How long, O Lord, must I bear this burden?"
He might respond, "Long enough." "Oh. Okay."
At last I began to recognize God's sovereignty as the most adequate of all answers. His presence as my main source of security. When I was a little girl about six or seven, I used to sit beside my dad in his rocking chair while he watched television. Dad was hard of hearing, so the volume was usually turned way up, and he often watched sports or political reviews, and I wasn't really interested in the programs. I just loved sitting beside my dad in his favorite chair. It was as if nothing in the world could harm me as I sat in the security of my dad's presence, snuggling close to his heart.
I think perhaps this is how it is with God. We learn to relax by His side even as we hold our unanswered questions. Knowing that He knows the answer is enough. This is a part of the mystery of life with God. It's His presence—sitting close to His heart—that brings security, not knowing every answer to life's unending questions. Like a child resting her head on her mother's breast, we learn to rest contentedly on our Master's chest.