Are We There Yet?

I try to be Christ-like. I try to do the right things. I try to say the right words. I try to think the right thoughts.

I try to smile at people as they pass. I try to support the appropriate causes. I try to love my neighbors even when they don’t love me back. I try to be kind and supportive to those in need.

Every day, I try to be like Christ.

Every day, I fail. I laugh at the wrong joke. I pass judgment on someone else’s life. I turn a blind eye to life’s injustice.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, will knock the “Christ-like” out of a person like a road trip with a five-year-old. As I write this, I’m sitting in Mississippi, 600 miles from my home considering our return drive with Squirts tomorrow—and remembering the ten hours our nine-hour trip took getting here.

How does a child look at a car filled with a DVD player, a handheld video game, books, coloring books, crayons, markers, toy cars, games and action figures and say, “I’m bored?” You couldn’t have told me the color of the seats for the amount of stuff we’d stacked around Squirts chair to keep him entertained.

One period of panic came when Squirts declared he had to go the bathroom—NOW—and we looked out the window to see only trees for miles in front of us and miles behind. We thought the moment had passed as a false alarm (“Oh, it was just a toot!”), but quickly learned that the urge had returned. A hectic few minutes of tears, reassurance and clenched cheeks later, we did make it safely to a “lovely” gas station bathroom.

But it’s the questions that send me over the edge. “Are we there yet?” is just the tip of the iceberg with Squirts. He quickly discovered he wasn’t going to get much help with that question. So, the questions evolved:

“Are we still in Texas?”
“How many minutes have we been gone?”
“Are we out of Texas yet?”
“How many more minutes ‘til we get there?”
“Are we in Mississippi yet?”

And repeat.

I’m sure I tortured my parents with the same types of questions on our many road trips to the grandparents. I formally and publicly apologize to them for that right now. Unlike my sister and me, who were free to roam the car, lay on the floor or stand on our heads, Squirts is strapped into his government-mandated car seat the entire trip. I swear those things were CIA-approved to extract sensitive information from the most resistant enemy agents.

Even so—the questions quickly bring to the fore another way I fail to be like Christ. My patience quickly dissipates as I stare down the road knowing all too well that the answer to Squirts’ many questions are no more comforting to me than they are to him.

“How long? Way too long son.”

Unlike me, God welcomes every question we bring to the table. And we can even ask those questions over and over again. I think we sometimes remember our response to others’ persistent, annoying or repetitive questions and believe God probably feels the same way about our questions of him.

Our lives are filled with questions for God. We experience so many challenges, uncertainties and heartaches, that asking, “Why, God?” can become second nature. In fact, there may have been times for you when simply asking “Why, God?” wasn’t enough. There may have been times when you’ve felt the need to shake your fist and scream

WHY, GOD!?
WHY ME, GOD!?
WHY NOW, GOD!?

I’m no expert, but I’d be willing to say that God can take our raised voices and even withstand our shaking fists. God’s shoulders have breadth enough to withstand our every question, our every doubt, our every moment of weakness.

Christ tells us:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28-30).”

When we ask God “Why?” it doesn’t reflect a heretical heart questioning God’s wisdom and power. It reflects a heart that wants to understand God better and to discover a deeper and more intimate relationship with God.

I believe those questions we ask—the “Why, Gods?”— reveal in us a weary and burdened heart. They show to God our need for rest. They ask God to make our burden light.

And Christ tells us God wants to relieve us of those heartaches and pains. We’re not alone. You’re not alone. I’m not alone. Christ provides that comfort. We can’t be afraid to reveal our pain and doubt and lack of understanding to God. Only through our questions will we ever find answers.

Where do you hurt today? Where do you hunger for answers from God? Christ awaits your burden.

Me? I see it coming on the road tomorrow as I step out one more time and try to be more like Christ.

Pray for me.

Better yet, pray for Squirts.

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