Babies learning to talk typically progress from “no!” to “why?”  before they can string together sentences.  That’s indicative of a pattern that sticks with us through old age, I think … First, we try to assert control:  “No!” When we fail in that, our confusion and disappointment prompt the plea: “Why?”

Born into the illusion that the world exists for our pleasure and at our whim, many of us wrestle mightily with accepting the sad, cold truth of our relative lack of authority over an indifferent universe.  That’s certainly been the pattern for me, in my life before faith!

I did not grow up in a Christian household.  My parents, both intelligent and passionate and talented people, had quasi-religious commitments to other things.  My childhood and adolescence found me saying “no!” more than I asked “why” – because I didn’t want to know why things were the way they were at home.  I just wanted to get away – where my “no” might be heard. 

My undergraduate years at Yale, and later graduate work at Cambridge, led me down all sorts of intriguing potential answers to the “why” questions I asked.  But the more I accumulated answers, the more I felt the inadequacy of my knowledge.  Learning more didn’t translate to understanding more, I found.

Then there was this, too: even as I accumulated broad, deep information and rather marvelous experiences, the fact of my lack of authority — not just the indifferent universe but in my own little life — overwhelmed me.  Not only was I lacking the answer to the “why” that would make things hold together in a cosmic sense, I was lacking answers to every little “why?” that made up the fabric of my everyday existence. Worse,  my “no”  as an educated adult seemed to have as little power as my toddler-aged “no.”  Nobody listened, no matter how loudly and authoritatively I bellowed.

At age 30, I was divorced.  And I had three very young sons, several fancy degrees, and a sense of failure so crushing as to be absolute.

For those of us with strong wills and stiff necks, being truly broken becomes the blessing that (finally) bends our knees.  Desolate over my inability to save my marriage or spare my sons the pain of its shattering, completely out of answers, completely out of energy to come up with more questions, and completely out of hope that my own cleverness could save anyone (even me) … I was exactly where I needed to be.  Because that’s when God got my attention, and the healing began.

In two decades since that turning point, God has taken me places (geographic, emotional, relational) that I would never have chosen for myself.  It’s been wild, terrifying, heart-breaking, and more deeply satisfying and joy-filled than I could ever have imagined back “in my old life.”  God has (so tenderly) taught me to trust HIS “no” – and His “yes!” – rather than my own; and God has (so faithfully) shepherded me through countless “why” questions … many of which could only be answered “Jesus.”

Like a hummingbird, I’ve racked up some serious mileage in pursuit of warmth and nourishment.  In the process, I’ve discovered that I am like a sunflower: I can only thrive if I’m tracking the Son.