The two of us were in his shop surrounded by woodworking tools, piles of wood and several projects in various stages of completion. The man of her dreams and partner for life was in a hospital bed some 50 miles away after suffering his second stroke. The prognosis for a return to his shop and projects was not promising.

In retirement he had found a source of income to supplement a modest retirement income and they had been able to spend their days together on their mom and pop business; actually, more accurately stated, my mom’s and pop’s business.

The unfinished projects paled in comparison with the unanswered questions. We would finish the projects and deliver the cabinets and other items promised. The craft show we could manage and the balance of the wood and tools would wait in hope for their master’s return to use or shape them into something of service to the buyers.

However, the unanswered question seemed to be as present as a ticking clock marks an agonizing movement of time. Like a fitful night and the tick, tick, tick of the clock whose hands never seem to move and dawn seems to never come.

Then she asked it. I must confess to being surprised by the question. I had heard the stories of her father’s untimely death in her early teens, the struggles of the Great Depression, a husband away to war and a daughter to raise alone. I had seen first hand her hard work in the Weave room, the garden and around the house; I knew she knew the harsh reality that life is hard. I also knew her to be a person of faith with a personal relationship with her savior and Lord. This faith had sustained her at her mother’s death and other events that befall the human condition.

“What did your father and I do that was so bad that God would do this to us?” asked my mother.

The question surprised me. I was surprised at the belief that God would single her or my father out to visit some wrath on them and that she took it so personally. But it is hard to accept the goodness and grace of a savior apart from the possibility of the wrath of the same God. After all, I had been on the receiving end of love with a switch.

My initial response was one from the head. “Mama, there might be lots of reasons for daddy’s stroke; genes, diet, lifestyle and who knows what else but I don’t think God just singled him out to punish you or him. Sometimes bad things happen.” I am quite sure she understood with her head but her heart was still trying to make sense of it all. That is the way life works. Our head is a lot smarter about such things than our hearts.

That conversation came to mind recently when I received a call from someone who wanted to tell me how much they missed a good friend, Foy Ray. She went on to ask the question of why the good die before we want them to leave us.

I gave all the right “head” answers. I reminded her of the Rabbi Kushner’s assertion that there is randomness to the good and bad in life and Leslie Weatherhead’s ultimate will of God being accomplished. Then I told her what I know to be true from my study and experience, the distance between knowing and feeling may be continents apart.

Maybe the reason the heart keeps asking, “Why” is too keep us from going mad. But eventually we come to the realization that it is crazy to try to figure life out. The most honest answer we can offer is,”I don’t know.”

I think the mind finds some freedom in that and I am sure it is of comfort to the heart. But of most comfort to me is something I heard long ago. I do not remember where but it is written on my soul with indelible ink, “When you can not understand the mind of God, trust His heart.”