Why?
It’s a small word. Just three letters.
But it may be the question we ask more than any other.
Yesterday, I walked through a hospital entrance that felt much heavier than usual. A group had gathered—friends, family—standing close, holding each other up. Some were crying. Others were quiet, eyes full, saying nothing at all.
And running through all of it—spoken and unspoken—was the same question:
Why?
It didn’t matter who they were.
Young and old. Dressed up and dressed down.
Same question.
Why?
As I passed through, I found myself thinking about my own life—some moments that made sense, and plenty that didn’t. The ones I’ve made peace with… and the ones that still feel unresolved.
I’ve asked it too.
Why?
The thing is, that question doesn’t just belong to moments like that. It shows up everywhere. It starts early—a kid wondering why gummy bears don’t count as dinner—and it stays with us, just with higher stakes.
A diagnosis.
A loss.
A door closing when you were certain it would open.
And somewhere in all of it:
Why?
If you have faith, the question can feel even heavier.
Because, quietly, almost without noticing, we build an expectation: I pray, God responds and life moves forward in a way that at least makes some sense.
A rhythm. A pattern.
Until it breaks.
And when it does, the question doesn’t go away—it gets louder.
Why?
We’re not the first to ask it. Job asked why he had become a target. Habakkuk wrestled with why injustice was allowed to continue. Even Jesus, our Savior, the Son of God, in a moment of deep suffering, cried out, asking why He had been forsaken.
So no, we’re not alone in the asking.
But here’s what I’m slowly—sometimes reluctantly—learning:
“Why?” isn’t always a question that gets answered. At least not in the way we hope. It can leave you circling the same thoughts, replaying the same moment, waiting for clarity that never quite arrives.
And sometimes… it doesn’t.
My wife—who is frequently wiser than I am—has gently pushed me toward a better question.
Not, “Why is this happening?”
But, “God, what are you doing in me through this?”
That question doesn’t come naturally.
Because “why” is easier.
It keeps the focus out there—on explanations, on outcomes, on things beyond our control.
But this other question brings it closer.
It asks me to consider that maybe this moment—however confusing or painful—isn’t just something to endure. Maybe it’s something that can shape me. Refine me. Change me.
Not because the situation itself is good—
but because something good can still be formed within it.
That doesn’t erase the grief.
It doesn’t tie everything up neatly.
It doesn’t mean the questions disappear.
But it does change the way I stand in the middle of it.
Less demanding answers…
more open to growth.
Less needing to understand everything…
more willing to trust that something meaningful is still unfolding—even if I can’t see it yet.
And maybe that’s the shift.
Not that “why” is wrong—
but that it isn’t enough.
It’s where we begin.
It’s honest. It’s human.
But it’s not where we’re meant to stay.
Because if we stay there too long, we risk missing what might be happening in us, even while we’re trying to make sense of what’s happening to us.
So ask “why.”
But don’t stop there.
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Pastor Mark
Mark, the eighth of nine children born to Reuben and Henrietta Meeks—dedicated church planters with nearly 30 congregations established across California’s Central Valley—is a preacher's kid who grew up immersed in faith and service. With over forty years of experience teaching, discipling, and ministering to communities, including the hospitalized and incarcerated, Mark responded to God's call to pastoral ministry. He holds degrees in civil engineering and public administration, as well as a Master’s in Theology from Fuller Seminary, equipping him to serve with both practical insight and spiritual depth.
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