Layers
I was preparing lentil soup, chopping an assortment of root vegetables. As I stood there peeling carrots and staring at a sliced onion on the cutting board, I began thinking about layers.
Lately I've gone down a few rabbit holes. This is something I'm prone to do, and the internet- along with the algorithms behind our social media- encourages it. One article or video leads to another, and I wind up spending too much time peeling back layer after layer in search of answers.
I want to understand the world as it truly is. Unfortunately, truth in our modern culture is buried beneath endless opinions, conflicting studies, sensational headlines, and persuasive voices. Subjects like health, politics, and current events rarely offer simple answers. You can search until the cows come home and somehow walk away with more questions than when you started, feeling frazzled instead of fulfilled.
Many questions are like an onion, or perhaps a cabbage, with seemingly endless layers. Our minds become the peeler, convinced that with just one more swipe we'll finally reveal the answer.
I see that same curiosity in Oliver, though in a much purer form. Lately, he's been asking, "Why?" more than usual. I love watching him discover the world around him, each answer adding another brushstroke to the picture he's forming of reality. I do my best to answer every inquiry, though I know the day will come when my response is simply, "Because I said so."
That thought, like so many that arise from the parent-child relationship, reminds me of God.
We want every mystery explained, every question answered. Yet the only One who sees the big picture sometimes responds with what amounts to a loving, "Because I said so."
As children, we don't always understand the reasons behind what our parents ask of us. We're told to eat the unpeeled apple because the skin is good for us, even when we'd rather peel it away. Only later do we appreciate that what seemed unpleasant was actually for our benefit. We're not called to stop asking questions, but to trust that some answers are beyond our understanding- for now.
As time goes on, I've become more comfortable with not knowing. That’s not ignorance; it's wisdom. Curiosity is a gift, but it must be accompanied by humility.
The carrots on my cutting board had been peeled enough. I sliced them, tossed them into the pot and poured in the water. Had I kept peeling, there would have been nothing left to feed us.
It’s good to know when enough is enough. There will always be another layer to uncover, another mystery just beneath the surface. Some answers are found through study, others through experience, some only through faith, and others not at all.
