Spring 2017, my son was born.
His name’s Easton, and he came out with a lion’s mane of soft, silky hair that had only recently been plucked from the hair-trees in heaven. I could snuggle him and run my hands through his mane for hours.
He was born in the morning, so the rest of the day was pretty chaotic with doctors and nurses rushing about running tests. But at night, when everything calmed down, my wife lay on her hospital bed while I sat on the chair next to her, my shirt off, holding my new baby boy close to my heart.
I wept. I wept as though my eyes were channeling the endless falls of Niagara.
To hold that precious tiny little boy in my arm and know that his life was, quite literally, in my hands…
That was the closest I’ve felt to God.
I think there’s something beautiful about these powerful moments we experience at the beginning and ending of lives. Both are cause for celebration in their own way. Both leave us speechless, wondering why. In my case, it was “Why me? Why do I deserve this precious untainted soul?”
When I was a missionary in Ghana, I started most conversations with “if God was standing here right now, and you could ask him anything, what would it be?” And in that part of the world, most of the questions people asked had to do with hardship. With why God lets bad things happen to good people.
But for me, it’s the opposite. My question has always been “why do good things happen to people like me? Why was I blessed to be born in the most fabulously wealthy nation in history? Why do I have good health, sufficient means to take care of myself, and people to love…. but others don’t?”
And in return, the answer I’ve always gotten is not an answer but rather a question…
What God’s said back is “There’s no telling for now. The question is what will you do with it all?”