As a little boy, I had a favorite question. It was short, persistent, and almost never satisfied.
Why?
Why do I have to go to bed now?
Why can’t I have another cookie?
Why do we have to leave the park?
Why does it have to rain today?
My mother’s answer was usually just as short.
Because!
If I pushed—and I often did—she would sometimes add the mysterious line that left me completely stumped:
Because pigs don’t fly.
I never knew what that meant. I still don’t know. But I understood the larger message. Some answers simply were not mine to have in that moment. Even though I never thought so, my mother knew more than I did. She could see farther down the road than a small boy with sticky fingers and a limited view of the world. Trust was required even when understanding was not there.
I have come to believe that something very similar happens in our relationship with God.
We grow up. The questions get heavier. Why did this happen? Why didn’t You stop it, Lord? Why this loss, this delay, this silence, this pain? The impulse is the same one I had as a child standing in that kitchen: demand an explanation that will make the discomfort make sense.
Jesus answered him, What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand.
John 13:7
Sixteen years ago, when Cindy was in the hospital fighting for her life, she asked that same heavy question: Why? In that moment she was led to a little book by Gene Edwards titled The Prisoner in the Third Cell.
The story centers on John the Baptist—cousin of Jesus Himself—who was in the worst prison cell imaginable. He sends his disciples to ask Jesus a big question, Are You the One, or do we look for another? In other words, why? If You are truly God… why?
Jesus’ answer was profound. After rehearsing all the miracles He had performed, He added the powerful phrase: And blessed are those who are not offended with Me. (Matthew 11:4-6) In other words—even though you may not know why—you are blessed if you simply trust Me.
Scripture never treats Why? as our primary right. Job asked it at length and received no tidy explanation for his suffering—only a longer view of God’s sovereignty and wisdom. The psalmists poured out their confusion, but they were repeatedly directed back to trust. Jesus Himself, in the deepest anguish, did not demand a full accounting; He yielded.
God is not obligated to give us the detailed why we so often insist upon. He is God. We are not. His knowledge is perfect; ours is partial. His purposes stretch across eternity; ours are usually measured in days or decades. When we demand that He justify His ways to us before we will trust Him, we invert the relationship. We treat the Creator as if He must answer to the creature.
That does not mean our questions are sinful in themselves. Honest lament is found throughout the Bible. God can handle our confusion, our grief, and even our anger. What becomes inappropriate is the spirit that refuses to rest until every mystery is explained on our terms. That posture says, in effect, “I will trust You only when I fully understand You.” But faith that requires full understanding is not faith at all.
My mother’s because was not cruelty. It was a boundary set by love and wisdom. Because pigs don’t fly was her way of saying the explanation either exceeded my capacity or was simply not the point. The point was obedience and trust in the moment.
God’s because is infinitely wiser. Sometimes He gives insight later. Sometimes He never does in this life. Either way, the call remains the same: trust the One who sees the end from the beginning. He is not guessing. He is not experimenting. He is not obligated to clear every decision with us first.
So, the next time the familiar question rises—Why, Lord?—remember the little boy in the kitchen. The answer may still be, simply, Because. And that may be enough, because the One who says it knows best.
Pigs still don’t fly.
And God is still God.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.
Proverbs 3:5–6