God never told man “Why”

Heavy rains last night. The painter had pulled off some cedar siding to be replaced. He put a sheet of plastic over it and propped his ladder against it. “That should keep the water out,” he said as he left on Friday. I don’t know if it did or not.

The rain woke me and after lying in bed for a while, I got up and ate a cookie and a piece of chocolate and finally went back to sleep.

My morning thoughts take this direction: “I will never understand the “why” of anything that has stripped my life of joy. I don’t know why my child and spouse died. Or why my life has never been the same. That is just the way it is.

I don’t know why, but the “Why” of things is beyond the mind’s ability to understand. So how do we replace “why”? Acceptance seems to be the answer.

I must accept the stubborn givens of my life. Sadly, they keep me from living the life I might have lived had these people not been taken from me.

But maybe not. Maybe I would not have planted my “whys” in such deep soil and watered them with my tears. Maybe I would not have become a writer. Maybe each essay I have written has helped someone else as they struggle with sorrow.

Because it doesn’t go away. I watched OJ: The Lost Tapes last night. I don’t think the man is capable of emotion. He has not grown from the tragedy; indeed he probably created it.

I keep saying this, but it is the root and ground of my life: “There is no difference in a person and his life.” So I must accept not only my life but my reaction to it. I must keep on keeping on. In my own unique way I must burn as brightly as I can. The tears must not put out the candle.

Vicki Woodyard