When There Are No Answers

They ask tough questions, tears in their eyes. They desperately want an answer they can swallow, something, anything, to make sense of their pain, to relieve the burden of their mind.

Why does life have to be so hard?
Why does God keep saying no?
Why can't I be okay with His plan?
Why can't I trust?

I feel inept. I have no answers, no good advice, no beautiful soothing words or magic wand to wipe it all away. Life is hard. People hurt and God disappoints our earthly visions of how things should be. He doesn't always make sense, so how can I give a palatable solution? How can I explain God?

I can't. And I don't try.

Instead I listen, wondering if letting them vocalize their disappointment allows it out of their head. Like opening the valve on a pressure cooker, can speaking of it bring release? Once the words have escaped their mouths, can they rattle around in their brains any longer?

I hug, giving assurance in my touch that they aren't awful for doubting or questioning. When all else fails, I squeeze 'em tight, communicating without words.

And I pray, for peace, for endurance, for God to show Himself in a new way.

It doesn't seem like much, but it's what I have, so like the little boy with loaves and fish, I give it, trusting Him to use it. Humans don't have answers to God-sized questions, at least I don't. God's given me ears and arms instead.