Why me? I spent a few years asking, “why me?”
Why, God, did you do this to me? Why did you give me two severely disabled children? Some kind of sick joke? Is my middle name Job? Why did you decide my plate could hold all of this? Why me?
I’ve stopped asking that question. Ultimately, I don’t believe it to be the correct question.
One day, I want to meet Him (or Her) … and like Job, but with a twist, I do have a question. And, I am sure I’ll get the same answer Job got. Yet, I will ask …
Why did you do this to her?
And, as He said to Job, I bet He’ll let me know that it is not for me to ask.
Screw that. Why DID you do this to her? And to my son?