She had hiccups. She could not stop talking about the hiccups. Consequently, I could not stop listening to her talk about hiccups. We were driving down the road, so I was captive to her chatter.
She repeated her talking points:
1) I’ve had hiccups for a long time.
2) Why do I have hiccups?
3) What makes me hiccup?
I replied with bland answers: “Oh, you have, huh?” and “Everyone gets hiccups sometimes” and “I’m not sure.”
Finally, though she demanded an answer: “What makes me hiccup?”
And so, in exasperation, I said, “Your diaphragm has involuntary spasms causing you to hiccup.”
Silence filled the car.
Then: “What? Mom, I don’t even understand what you said.”
And I said with eye-rolling attitude, “Grace! You are asking questions which have answers you cannot possibly understand! Stop asking! Please!”
As those words slipped out, I thought of how many questions I ask that have answers I cannot possibly understand. Why did my dad die so young? Why did my husband have cancer of the larynx of all things? Why were we infertile–of all people? Why did our friend Andrew die in Afghanistan when he was just 24? Why, why, why?
I believe in God. I believe in a God of answers, a God of justice, a God of mercy. And I don’t understand so many things, just as my 7-year old doesn’t understand so many things. I am a child of God, emphasis on the “child.”
Every once in awhile, I have a little glimpse of God as my Father and I imagine Him saying to me, “Melodee, you are asking questions which have answers you cannot possibly understand. Just stop asking.”
I will trust that Someone has the answers, even if I can’t possibly understand. That’s enough for now.