Some are raised not to question authority. That is not a bad thing, in my opinion, when put in the right context. We don’t question our parent’s leadership. At least not noticeably! And then we are taken to church, where some of us are taught not to question God’s authority.
That is me. And as for me, that looked like never asking ‘why’. As a younger person, I took it at face value. I didn’t question my parents, I didn’t question God. Growing up, I conceded that I would not question God because He was sovereign and had a reason for everything that He did. I didn’t question it. Even if I may not have understood it, I didn’t question it.
The other day I finally got angry. I hadn’t gotten angry yet. But it was time. I had gone through the first stages of dealing with my Parkinson’s – sadness, grief. But never anger. It had been two years and it hit me. I am only 47, my doctor confident that I’ve been struggling with it since 32, when quite possibly it had been misdiagnosed as systemic lupus. But for me, it’s been two definite years of knowing that I’ve been labeled with Parkinson’s disease.
And that day I was angry.
Because I’m only 47.
Because my right arm and my right hand shake.
Because my right leg shakes and my right foot as well.
Because my jaw and face shake.
Because I can’t smell roses anymore.
Because sometimes it’s hard to swallow and do other things that I used to not think about like button my pants or put on my watch.
Because I get tired more easily and it’s hard to make it through the day without a nap.
Because I am not as strong as I used to be.
Because my foot drags and I often trip.
Because I have fallen down the stairs twice.
Because my mind always seems scattered. (Hey, it’s my disease – I can blame anything on it!)
Because I don’t sleep well.
Because I get sick from the medicine.
Because I have Parkinson’s.
Because I’m only 47.
Those are all pretty good reasons to be angry, right? And, I wasn’t necessarily angry at God, but perhaps with Him. He allowed this to be, but didn’t cause it. So, we got angry together. And in my anger, I wanted to ask, “Why?”
But I didn’t.
Instead, I sat there as He dried my tears and He whispered, “Jesus wept and He also asked why.” I stopped crying and thought about what He had just said to me.
“My God, my God,” Christ cried out on the cross, “why have you forsaken me?”
He was not condemned for asking His heavenly father “Why?” There also seemed to be no answer there that we are aware of – at least not an obvious one. But I am quite confident the answer was there and I am quite confident that Jesus already knew what it was. Just as I usually know the answer to the why, making it useless to even ask why.
Why do I have Parkinson’s? Why not? Why not me instead of someone else?
Why does my friend have kidney disease?
Why is my son an alcoholic?
Why did my aunt have to die from medical neglect?
Why does a friend of mine have to care for children whose biological parents don’t care enough to want to get off of drugs?
Why?
Why?
We can ask why until our list is exhausted and the answer can be as simple or as complicated as we wish it to be.
The answer to the question of why for me is that God is in control, sovereign, and while He never gives us more than we can handle, He will allow what we can handle. Why? To make us stronger and to come along side and help to make others stronger.
So, ultimately, I have Parkinson’s. And if just one life is encouraged, if just one life is strengthened, then that is why I have Parkinson’s. And that brings me joy.
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