The question was asked, though not of me. I read of it later. I added a short reply, but then just let the thought scurry away into the back of my mind. I did not realize that I would continue to hear the scurrying sounds – and the digging, too. What could that thought have found in the recesses of my consciousness that was worth prying out of the sticky mess?
Little Thought, please stop digging. You are going to dredge up questions that I do not want to answer.
Weeks pass. I hear the tiny sounds but ignore them. Bah! It’s just background noise.
A question is asked directly of me. “Why would you want this?” Oh! I did not know that it would cause a problem. Maybe I should rethink it all. But isn’t some thinking already going on back there? Why do I still hear scurrying?
Little Thought, please be careful. If you pull out the wrong question, you could cause an avalanche.
Then comes another query. “Are you sure this is what you think it is?” No. No, if you ask me if I am sure then I am automatically unsure. I thought you knew that. What is that noise?!?
Little Thought, please stop bothering the memories. They were being quiet and orderly before you got here.
An answer comes. “You might not be able to do this.” I am lacking, it seems, in some important ways. Or is that just an opinion? It seems awfully loud in here all of the sudden.
Little Thought! No!
Now you have done it! You pulled all of those questions down on top of all of those memories and woke them all up.
Little Thought, you don’t understand how terrible this will be…
Here comes that question – the question that rips me up to the point that I end up lying on the floor, crying so hard that I can barely breathe, and begging God for answers.
Little Thought, you woke up Why. You should never, ever wake up Why.
Why has so many questions that I cannot answer. Why dares to ask God questions that I would never voice on my own.
Why? Why do You make me look like These but feel like Those? Why must I always be in the middle between the two? And Why do You let me dream like Them when I possess none of what dreams are made of? Why can I not be satisfied being the Least of These? Why must I want to be the Most in some way? Why is it not enough for me that I tremble in Your presence? Why must I want to share in Your glory somehow? Why am I not satisfied to let others paint rainbows while I sit here in darkness? Why can’t I paint anything at all?
Oh, Little Thought, we’ve really done it now. He’s so angry that He is not even going to answer, is He?
I will need to get up off the floor at some point. I’ll need to wash the tear tracks off my face. I will need to separate the questions from the memories and put them back in their nice, neat stacks.
Little Thought, please don’t leave me. I might need some company tonight.
Do I hear scurrying again?