hold the question

There are seasons in which it is best not to ask too many questions.

There are seasons in which you just know that a happy surprise is around the next corner. The smells, sounds, hints, secret trips to the store, and sneaking about with bags or boxes that you weren’t supposed to see, all make you so excitedly inquisitive that you nearly stretch your skin trying to contain your eagerness. But you don’t snoop too much or sleuth around the house because you know that, should you get too nosey, you might spoil some delectable wonder for yourself. You would rather reap the reward of not-so-patient waiting than discover the delight before it’s time.

There are seasons in which a long-anticipated fear is realized, and it is so desolating that nobody has the energy to answer questions. It might be the loss of a job, the death of a loved one, or rejection of an all-too-important application. The curious confused cat inside of you wants to know why: why now? why me? how did this happen? And yet, there’s a segment of your soul that is weary, barren, mourning, and just needs to realize and process the disappointing reality before moving on to any investigation.

There are seasons in which you can sense transition on the horizon. It makes the air you breathe quiver with your anticipation. You know that the fateful shifting of the shadows will reveal a new challenge, a fresh perspective, an unforeseen redirection; however, it is not for you to know the times or seasons.

There are seasons in which the season has been too long, and you need the wind to change. The cold, grey, and howl of winter need to fold to the warmth, green, and chirping of spring. Your cabin fever reaches a burning temperature. But spring cannot wait forever, and winter is weary. And so waiting, dreaming of sunshine and cherry blossoms, you anticipate the awakening of spring.

There are seasons in which the petition has yet to be realized. Your knees are bruised from being pressed into the floor as you’ve prayed. Your soul feels restless as it looks for the long-awaited answer. Your mind would wander to places of deep, despairing analysis as to why it hasn’t come, why the vision has not been realized, why the request has not been granted. Nonetheless, you speak to your soul of the goodness and patience of the Almighty, who sees and knows and hears all things. And you hush the fretting voices in order to receive the peaceful command to be still.

There are seasons in which it is best not to ask too many questions.
There are seasons in which it is best to breathe in the pause; to hold the question in your heart’s palm, and allow the tension of waiting and longing to be held in the palm of the Father.
Anticipate. Ponder. Rest. Be still. Trust.
The answer will come.
For to everything, there is a season.