​Recently, a certain question has been popping up frequently as I've sat with other people around my age and engaged in conversation about a variety of subjects common to our phase of life. I am grateful to have several people in my life who are willing to sit for long periods of time, chatting about the everyday stuff of life, and the deep, soul-stirring highs and lows of friendship, marriage, parenting, health, work, creativity, and faith. I am an introvert at heart and find these conversations to be the life-giving sustenance I need in order to live out my often-required extroverted activities.

The words are often uttered with a tone of confusion, grief, or frustration, after the person saying them has shared some kind of disappointment they are experiencing. I've had friends pose this question while battling professional discouragement, and others who've barely been able to squeak out the syllables as they weep over a child who is, either by their own doing or by the hurtful hand of others, in deep pain.

I remember asking the question myself, many times, looking in the mirror during the darkest days of my cancer treatments, staring at a face I barely recognized. I've whispered them as a prayer while sitting on my deck asking God why a relationship seem to be crumbling. And countless times, I've mumbled them through tears after beating myself up over my own failures as a wife, mom, and friend.

The question doesn't come early in conversation. It usually comes after several emotions have been laid bare on the table - sadness and anger being the primary ones to precede the asking. It often comes after a long pause. It comes with a hint of giving up. As if there is nothing else to say, but to look around and ask, "How did I get here?"

I have found two things to be true about the moments following the asking of the question. First, it really isn't a question people want answered. Because at whatever point you are at when the question is asked, you don't necessarily want to recount the possible pathways of circumstances or choices that actually led to where you are. And second, I don't have an answer for the question. At least not one that directly satisfies the person asking or comes close to understanding the complexity of a question like that.

While it might not feel like it at the time, there is a beautiful thing that seems to be happening when a person reaches the point where they actually say, "How did I get here?" I think it feels like a moment of surrender. Like you realize you're lost and finally ask someone for directions. As if you've reached the end of your own understanding and ultimately come to the conclusion that you are at a complete loss as to what to do next. That doesn't sound beautiful, you say? Maybe not at first, but I do think it can be a first step in becoming beautiful. If you take the necessary next steps.

I don't understand the mind of God. I don't know why He makes the choices He does and allows us to make the choices we make. I don't know why He has allowed pain and suffering and loss. I don't know why I look at so many things in my life and think, "Well that didn't turn out like I thought it would." I don't know why people I love are facing the stuff of life that feels like a constant breaking. I don't know why some people have great success in their profession and others don't, even though they've both worked incredibly hard at what they do. I don't know why some doors open and others don't. And I don't know why we get to places where we look around and ask the question, "How did I get here?"

But here's what I do know - God does. God knows and sees all the paths we did and didn't take. He sees the decisions made and the opportunities missed. He sees how all the roads have twisted and turned and crossed to intersect with other people who are on their own journeys that are seen and known by Him. I am blown away by that truth. Not only does He know what got us to where we are, He knows where we're going. Every single step. Every bumpy road we'll walk. He knows every destination we'll reach. He even knows the next time we might ask the question, "How did I get here?" I don't know how that works, but somehow I believe it to be true.

Again, I don't understand the mind of God. But I think I do know His heart. And I think his heart is more concerned with the question that should follow "How did I get here?" That question is, "Where do I go now?" It's not that I don't think we should learn from our past. Of course we should. Lessons learned are the guideposts for decisions yet to be made. But wallowing in the stuff we can't change, the baggage of pain and anger, and the frustration over where we thought we'd be as opposed to where we are, won't get us a step further toward the beautiful life God has for us. He wants to answer our questions. Especially if they lead us closer to Him.

I wonder if one day I'll stand before Him and ask the question, "How did I get here?" Not in search of a gospel-y kind of answer. More like wanting to hear Him tell me about all the stuff I didn't see happening around me. The moments He corrected, covered, rescued, provided, and refined me in ways I didn't even recognize. The moments I threw up my hands and asked, "Where do I go now?" I kinda think He'll tell me He was really happy when I finally asked THAT question, because I believe He wants to tell me. Show me. Lead me. I just don't ask often enough. I think the quicker we move from asking "How did I get here?" to "Where do I go now?" the happier we'll be. More content. More trusting. More at peace. And that sounds pretty good to me.