And so we forged our way into dark waters where you can’t see the bottom. He voiced his questions about why God heals some people and not others, particularly not our person.
I told him that I don’t think God sends illnesses, but sometimes he lets them happen. I told him that I think God healed that little girl so he could remind the world that he can, but he didn’t heal Robb because he was telling a different kind of story, a different kind of miracle, about how he is with us in our darkest hour.
He asked why God tests us.
I told him I don’t believe God tests us, but the world does.
He asked why, if God has already won the war, does he let Satan keep winning battles? I told him I think he’s giving the world time to believe him. I told him I think God has marked his calendar, and he’s going to show up to wrap this thing up when he’s ready. But the clock is ticking, and it won’t always be this way.
He apologized for asking hard questions. I told him I love his hard questions.
I promised him to always tell him what I know, and I asked him to be patient with me and with God when the answer is, “I don’t know.”
I told him that it’s in those gaps, in the space between questions and answers, where faith steps in.
I didn’t give him any answers he wanted. But I gave him what I had. He didn’t feel better, but he felt heard.
It’s one thing to battle my own faith crises. It’s a whole different something to trust God with my son’s faith crisis, to trust him to be enough.
But that’s where faith steps in.
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This article originally appeared at TriciaLottWilliford.com, published with permission.
