So many questions.
This week, my heart stirred for the people in Boston who hunkered in their homes waiting for word of a captured killer. I grieved for those fighting for life and courage in hospital beds, limbs missing, bones broken, and skin marred from shrapnel.
But I also grieved for the people devastated by a fertilizer plant explosion in Texas. At the same time they were displaced and wondering when they would be able to get back to the shards of their homes to sift through what remained, the news media abandoned their story to focus on an American terrorist.
That prompted more questions.
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Questions might seem to us as a sign of a lack of faith. A sign of insecurity.
But, I don't think so.
Questions are a sign we still care. When we stop asking the questions is when we have given up hope. As long as we ask the questions, hope is alive. We're looking for a solution. Answers.
I have hope because when I ask the questions, I always come back to one answer.
I ask, "Why? What can we do? Where do we go for help?"
He answers, "I am still here." No question in his voice. Just affirmation that he is still in charge. Evil may be present, but it will not prevail.
So, ask the questions. But then listen for the answer. Can you hear the whisper of hope? He is here. Let's not forget.