Is it OK to wonder why he allows suffering?

Maria Sue Chapman, the five-year-old daughter of veteran Christian singer Steven Curtis Chapman and his wife, Mary Beth, was accidentally struck and killed by a car last week. As I read the news of Maria’s death, I asked God my most oft-repeated question: Why?

On learning the details, I shifted to a more accusatory question: How could you allow this, God? Some of the Chapman children witnessed the accident in the family’s driveway. The driver who accidentally hit Maria was her 17-year-old brother. And their mother, Mary Beth, has long struggled with depression. From my perspective, the loss was too much for the Chapman family. From my perspective, God should have stopped the car.

Why we shouldn’t rush our friends through difficulties

I like to fix things. Or, rather, I like to fix people. Someone comes to me with a problem, and I want to make it better—now. But lately, I’ve watched several friends live through terrible situations: crumbling marriages, failing careers, dying children, withering spirits. And I can’t do a thing to make them better.

I grew up in a Swedish family that didn’t do well with emotion, particularly “negative” emotions such as sadness, anger, frustration, grief. The Scandinavian way is to push through and do whatever’s necessary regardless of feelings. Added to that mindset is my generation’s belief that talking about a problem long enough will make it better. As if those propensities weren’t enough, I always want to be the friend who gives the best advice, who comes through and saves the day. So because of my Swedish instinct to run from pain, my Gen X desire to discuss a problem’s every nuance, and my chronic need to help, I tend to rush people through life’s hard parts. As I listen to these friends whose spouses are leaving or whose parents are sick or whose jobs are gone, I have to work hard to keep my mouth shut and my ears open.

Without an apology, reconciliation often isn’t an option.

From babyhood, my daughter Lulu has steadfastly obeyed the apostle Paul’s command, “Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry" (Ephesians 4:26). She must have learned the passage in one of her first Sunday school classes. Somehow, the command’s urgency gripped her baby brain with the fear that whoever had angered her—usually me—might die in the night and she’d be left knowing that her last feelings had been angry and the last words reverberating between us into eternity were hurtful or mean.

Consequently, to this day, whenever we have a conflict, Lulu shows up at my side shortly before bedtime with the demand that I apologize so she can sleep.

Sometimes selecting the right sentiment is a challenge.

My daughter, Alison, sends the world’s best greeting cards. One of my favorites pictures an odd, gangly girl with crooked glasses and teeth coming in at various stages of growth. I keep this card on my desk at work, and whenever I look at the picture I laugh.

A few years ago my other daughter, Laura, sent me a Mother's Day card listing her top ten reasons why I'm the best mom ever. Number six stated, “You always say, ‘You won't always feel like this’ when I'm feeling hopeless, and it instantly comforts me.” She addressed the card to Mama Jesus Kennedy, her nickname for me, and inserted two dollar bills I still have.

I hope my daughters enjoy selecting cards for me. And I wish I enjoyed buying cards for my mother.