June 23, 2011 by Stacy McDonald
Asking the right questions: Why not me?
By Becky Morecraft
I have wept over the losses my friends and total strangers have suffered this past week, some of them gone from this earth forever. One thought came to mind continuously: why them and not me? Why all those beautiful trees swept away and not mine? Why those quaint little towns and homes, churches and businesses worked for sometimes for years and not ours? Why those children, husbands, fathers, mothers and grandmothers and grandfathers taken and not me and mine? I do not have a rational answer to these questions. I would like to think it is because somehow I deserve God’s favor, but, with David, “My sin(s) (are) ever before my face.” There must be other reasons that I can’t comprehend.
Noah was righteous in the sight of God and God spared him and his family while destroying the rest of the world. I, however, sense my unrighteousness keenly. I love the Lord, but often my priorities become skewed and my conscience seared concerning areas of my life that I should address but tend to ignore.
I am undeserving of God’s mercy; and yet last week, He chose to take some of His children home to glory and leave me, a poor, struggling sinner, here for a while. READ MORE
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This is so beautiful, so emotional, and as lovely as the Scotland pictures Becky shared. I don’t usually ask why not me, but why them.
I’ve been re-reading some of the Dear America books, fictional diaries of historical girls. One of the girls traveled the Oregon trail, after she lost FOUR sisters in her native town; more deaths would come. One saw the horror of the Revolution; one the deaths all around her on the Titanic, and couldn’t forgive herself for living. And one came from Ireland to America, for extremely hard work so she could send for her starving parents. On top of seeing children hurt in the mills where she worked, including one girl killed, she lost her parents before they could come; in the film, based on the book, she cried, “It can’t be! Just two more weeks and I’ve have enough money, two more weeks and they could come!” The same horrible question: Why? When looking through those stories, I wondered how on earth those girls of different times could stand it. Yes, these books were fiction, but people lived just like that.
I just recently had a dream about tornados, one of many, but the most vivid one yet; it hit our home while we were away, and in the dream I almost yelled at my mom through the phone, “WHAT happened? Is it still there?” after she went ahead with Dad to look at the house. She said haltingly that it wasn’t, and I ended up weeping over the remains of the second floor, flattened on the ground. Part of the dream was inspired by the Alabama twisters, part of it by my past experience with hurricanes, having to leave home and wonder, indeed, if it was still there afterward. I woke up after that dream, in my bed, in my room and in my house, and just whispered, “Thank you God” before falling back to sleep. Thank you God, so much for everything, and please help me always remember to be thankful.
Sorry for the long post! Stirred up a lot of truths.
This article stirred up a lot of truths, I mean.