“We’re on the brink of an adventure, children, don’t spoil it with too many questions.”
Oh, it’s like Mary Poppins was speaking to my soul during her latest big-screen appearance.
“Don’t spoil it with too many questions.”
Too many questions.
That is my brain in three words.
I’ve always been a curious one. I had that typical childhood phase of asking “why?” after everything my parents said. But to this day, I still find myself “why-ing” and “how-ing” and “when-ing” till I’m blue in the face.
I just. Want. To know. Everything.
Some would argue that being too much of anything isn’t good for you. But can being too curious really be that bad?
For me, it depends. It’s good to be too curious about my industry, to get better at what I do. Or about different cultures so I can appreciate people who are different than me. Cool. Great. Harmless.
But being too curious about God’s plan, His will, or His doings, now that’s where I get into trouble.
“Lord, you told me to wait, but why? Till when? And what do I do in the meantime?”
“That’s a nice verse, but what is the exact answer in terms of me and my particular situation?”
“Did Adam have a last name? Where do last names come from?”
“Why did you take that person out of my life?”
“Why does pain come in an instant but healing takes so long?”
“What are the other planets even for?”
You’re probably exhausted just reading that, as am I.
But okay, here’s some blunt honesty. Sometimes I get frustrated with the broadness of the Gospel. The Gospel, which is for everyone, and needs to be written the way it is in order to impact generations upon generations till the end of time. I know this. Yet here I sit, wishing there was a version written directly to me, containing detailed solutions to my problems. (I understand how ridiculous this sounds. I really do.)
But as I go on why-ing and how-ing and when-ing, God reminds me, “We’re on the brink of an adventure. Don’t spoil it with too many questions.”
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9)
And I just sit there like, “Touché, God, touché.”
What I’m realizing is that there are some things that God doesn’t want me to know right now (or maybe ever—gasp!). Some things He can only teach me in certain seasons:
Only in seasons of emptiness can I learn to fill up on Him.
Only in seasons of waiting can I learn to spend time with Him.
Only in seasons of want can I learn that He’s all I need.
So I’m forced to focus on what I do know. God is real. He knows my name. He knows how many hairs are on my head. He knows how many hairs are on my mother’s head. He’ll be there when I get to tomorrow. And He’ll never leave me stranded in a spiritual desert (or in 2020).
Now this doesn’t stop me from asking Him a million questions. I actually think He wants that. But it does help me to loosen my grip and let my faith fill in the gaps. To realize that there are endless benefits of being close to Him, but that knowing everything isn’t one of them (on purpose). And to let Him do what He’s good at, especially as we’re embarking upon another question mark of a year. Because He already knows where He’s taking me. He just wants me to enjoy the ride.
This article has undergone ministry review and approval.