One day, I was frantically scouring my kitchen drawer, desperately hunting for a can opener.

When I found it, suddenly, a bittersweet wave of melancholy engulfed me. In a daring display, grief audaciously barged into my day, casting a somber shadow into the depths of my mind. How could a simple can opener have such power to trigger me?

In a fleeting instant, I found myself reminiscing about a treasured memory of my dear friend, Christina. The memory unfolded to the time she was on her way to my house to pick me up for church. She called and said, “Hey, don’t judge me for this, but . . . can you bring your can opener with you?” She told me she made coffee and wanted to add evaporated milk to it. When she finally arrived, I got into her car and handed her the can opener. “Girl, how old is this thang?” she asked, jokingly.

She always had a way of making me laugh . . .

As my kitchen became a stage, and this recollection of her unfolded, I could hear the faint echoes of her laughter over the low hum of the fridge. I couldn’t help but chuckle when the thought crossed my mind of her asking if my can opener was from the 1800s. She promised that she’d replace it with a modern one, but she never got a chance to. It’s crazy how there were so many things we planned, yet she never had the chance to accomplish those plans.

I can recall the day my dear friend passed away — I was awakened by the gentle movements of my daughter in my womb. I was filled with pure joy as I counted down the final two weeks until my baby girl’s arrival. I was also blissfully unaware of the phone call that would soon shatter my happiness, leaving me utterly devastated. Seven years later, the anniversary of her death still brings memories of the heart-wrenching phone call.

After Christina’s passing, my phone rang incessantly, as friends and family reached out to express their condolences. Most of the calls began with an awkward silence, followed by expressions of sympathy and well-intentioned advice, such as, “Try to find strength for the baby,” and, “Don’t question God.”

I didn’t know how to be strong, and I had so many questions accompanied by anger.

For six grueling months, I tried to suppress my grief and curiosity. I shifted my focus to navigating motherhood for a second time. Yet, I found myself juggling grief and joy, unsure of how to fully embrace their coexistence. The depths of my anguish ran so deep, it silenced my prayers. I submitted to the deception that my prayers didn’t matter, and I thought if I questioned God, it would be a daring and audacious betrayal.

My pastor preached a sermon that impacted me and allowed me to confront my grief. Later that day, I had a conversation with God in the privacy of my bathroom. It took me a while to utter the questions I suppressed for so long, but when I did, I was consumed by a surge of emotions. It was as if a mighty wave crashed upon the shores of my consciousness, leading to thought-provoking questions. God, why did she have to die? Didn’t we have great faith? Did she do something wrong? Why didn’t You heal her? What’s the reason for this?

My grief demanded answers and it ignited a profound curiosity within me. Yet, God met me where I was and He welcomed my pain and questions. 

For so long, I was taught not to question God and I thought doing so was inherently wrong. But then, I discovered that God actually embraces curiosity . . . and I was relieved to know that God welcomes our questions.

This encounter that I had with God awakened another memory I had with Christina. I had taken her to the emergency room because she was nearly unconscious. Intravenous fluids were administered and, after twenty minutes, I heard her mumbling under her breath. “It’s not worth it,” she whispered. “Let it go, let it go.”

As she gradually regained her strength, she raised her voice and said, “Forgive . . . forgive.” In the moment, I was confused. But, in looking back, I believe God helped me recollect that memory to show me that He was dealing with her heart at the time. After pondering this, God led me to Isaiah 55:8, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”

In fact, God showed me that He heard our prayers. While we were praying for physical healing, He saw it fit to heal her heart and allowed internal healing.

When faced with the inevitable trials of life, it’s important to remember that God never promised life would be without suffering. Oftentimes, during these trials of suffering, our curiosity is sparked . . . compelling us to seek answers and understanding. Beauty lies in not having to suppress our emotions and deepest questions. Instead, we can find solace in respectfully approaching God with our questions, knowing that He is always ready to listen and provide guidance.

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