"You're taking this so well." I've heard it several times already. What it implies is that someone in my situation would be expected to be a nervous wreck, an emotional mess, a jumble of anxiety and anger and grief. And very often, the observation that I am not coming apart at the seams is followed by some affirmation that, because I'm not having a breakdown, I must be in some ways more wise and more mature than most people.
     I've been a husband and father too long to think of myself as either wise or mature.
     However, I've been thinking about what's got me so calm in the midst of what could easily cause anyone to fall apart. It's all about the interrogatives. I'm serious.
     Interrogative are those words that every journalist is trained to ask, words like who, what, where, when, why, and how. Part of my peace these days comes from focusing on the correct questions. The one that demands a lot of attention, but which shouldn't be heeded is "Why?" "Why is this happening to me?" "Why isn't God healing me?" "Why do we suffer?" Fair questions, but not ones that we usually have answers to in Scripture or in life.
     Consider Job. If you start reading Job at chapter 3 and it's a different story. Job, a righteous man, is suffering. When his "friends" try to explain his suffering by assuming that Job has sinned and is being punished, it only frustrates Job, who knows that's not the case. Something doesn't make sense. Only the reader is privy to the whole story, only the reader knows that God has given Satan permission to test Job. God is still in control; God recognizes the righteousness of Job; and Job's suffering is not a punishment.  We know this; but Job, as he suffers, does not.  And in the end, Job is never given an answer to the question "Why?"
     Of course I wish I knew why I have a brain tumor. And when a loved one has a terrible accident, when a child dies, when abuse destroys a home, when injustice prevails, it's natural to want to know Why? Our minds want to make sense of the world, make sense of our lives, and make sense of God. It was Friedrich Nietzsche (and I can proudly say I typed that without having to look up the spelling) who said, "He who has a 'why' to live can bear almost any 'how.'" We can endure much if we believe it is justified, if we know there's a good reason.  Otherwise dentists would be out of business.
     But cancer doesn't come with an explanation. Most of our suffering doesn't. So instead, I'm clinging to a different interrogative - Who.
     In 2 Timothy 1:12, Paul says, "I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that day what has been entrusted to me."
     That's what's keeping me together. I know who is control of my situation, and it's not me. I know him and I trust him. The Psalmist felt this way when people called him to panic over the state of the world in Psalm 11:1-4: "In the LORD I take refuge; how can you say to my soul, 'Flee like a bird to your mountain, for behold, the wicked bend the bow; they have fitted their arrow to the string to shoot in the dark at the upright in heart; if the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?' The LORD is in his holy temple; the LORD’s throne is in heaven; his eyes see, his eyelids test the children of man."
     This isn't a question about why, it's a question about what. What can we do in the face of disaster? Once again, it comes back to who. Who is on the throne? Who is a refuge for his people? The people of God may not know what to do, but they know where to look. Where - that's another question we ask. Where is God when I suffer? Where is he in disaster? Again, I would pivot away from the where and back to the who. Who is God when I suffer? He is still wise, loving, and mighty. And he is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18).

     Then there's the question of when. That's on my mind a lot. Every doctor visit, we have to bite our tongues so that we don't blurt out the real question on our minds. "Forget all these medical terms and just tell me how much longer I have left to live!" When will I die? God only knows. But how I will live until then is the more important question. Moses, in Psalm 90:12 prays, "Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom." I don't know when I will die, and that's not the question that should occupy my mind. Recognizing that there is a when to death should inform the how of life today. The nearness of death should make us wise.

   So there it is - if I'm not panicking, it's because I'm focused on the correct interrogatives. It's because I know whom I have believed. So I would disagree with Nietzsche and say we don't need a why to endure suffering in life, we need a who.  We don't need his explanation as much as we need his presence.