When We Do Not Know Why
For the past two weeks, our family has lived inside a question.
Several months after our daughter Maggie’s bone marrow transplant, her blood counts began to fall. Her platelets dropped. Her white blood cells disappeared. Her red blood cell production declined. A biopsy showed that her marrow was producing very few cells.
The transplant itself appears to have taken. Her sister’s cells are there. But the factory has gone strangely quiet.
Her doctors have considered medications, viruses, infections, immune suppression, and other possibilities. Maggie has endured fevers, transfusions, a bronchoscopy, an NG tube, and more tests than I can name.
The clearest answer we have right now is that we do not know.
I’m not a fan of unanswered questions. As I talk to others who are concerned for Maggie, I see them struggle with the same frustration. But we have to be careful. When we cannot discover the reasons for our suffering, we can be tempted to invent them.
“This must be happening because we made the wrong decision.”
“Perhaps someone missed something.”
“Maybe God is punishing us.”
“Perhaps our faith is too weak.”
“Maybe the worst possible outcome is now inevitable.”
All of these go against my constant advice to my wife and daughters: remember true things.
Christian faith does not deny reality. We ask questions, we seek wisdom, we listen to doctors, and we acknowledge genuine dangers. But faith calls us to distinguish between what is true and what is merely possible.
There are things we know and there are things we do not know. Much of faithful living consists of refusing to pretend that our fears belong in the first category.
We do not know why Maggie’s marrow is struggling. We do not know if the medications will stimulate it. We do not know how long she will remain in the hospital or what further treatment may be necessary. These are not small uncertainties. They concern our daughter’s life and health. We would very much like answers.
But the absence of an answer does not give us permission to manufacture one.
“The secret things belong to the LORD our God,” Moses tells Israel, “but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever” (Deuteronomy 29:29).
There are secret things, and there are revealed things. The secret things belong to God. The revealed things are given to us. Much of our distress comes from trying to drag the secret things into the light while neglecting the truths God has already placed in our hands.
We do not know why Maggie’s marrow is quiet.
But we know that God is good.
We do not know what tomorrow’s bloodwork will show.
But we know that God is faithful.
We do not know how long this season will last.
But we know that God does not abandon us.
Do you see that these truths are not conclusions drawn from our present circumstances? Our circumstances are confusing. We know these things because God has spoken.
If I judge God’s character by each day’s events, my understanding of Him will rise and fall with Maggie’s blood counts. A good report will mean that God is kind. A new fever will make His goodness seem questionable. But God’s character is not to be interpreted by the latest lab result. The lab result must be interpreted in light of God’s revealed character.
And the clearest revelation of His goodness is not the ease of our circumstances but the cross of Jesus Christ. “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all,” Paul asks, “how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:32). At Calvary, God settled the question of whether He loves His people.
Hard providences leave many questions unanswered. The cross answers the greatest one: Can I trust Him? Yes.
As many of you know, we love the illustration of the moon. There are nights when we see the whole moon. There are nights when we see only a sliver. Sometimes clouds hide it entirely. But the moon has not changed its shape. Our view has changed. So it is with the goodness of God.
There are seasons when His kindness is clear. The danger passes. The prayer is answered as we hoped. The family comes home. There are other seasons when His providence is foggy. We cannot understand what He is doing or why He has permitted the trial. But we always know that God has not changed.
He was good before Maggie’s counts fell. He was good when she was admitted. He was good during the fevers and procedures. He is good while we wait.
His goodness is not always equally visible, but it is always true.
The moon is always round, and God is always good.
One of the most faithful things we can say in a hard season is, “I do not know.”
“I do not know why this is happening.”
“I do not know when relief will come.”
“I do not know what tomorrow holds.”
“But I know the Lord.”
All the way my Savior leads me. What have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy, Who thru’ life has been my Guide?
Heav’nly peace, divinest comfort, Here by faith in Him to dwell!
For I know, whate’er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well.
All the way my Savior leads me, Cheers each winding path I tread;
Gives me grace for ev’ry trial, Feeds me with the living Bread.
Tho’ my weary steps may falter, And my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me, Lo! A spring of joy I see.
I'm new to your substack, and wish it were under happier circumstances. I am praying for Maggie's health and for the comfort of the Holy Spirit for all of you.