My stationary sink is kind of nasty. Located next to my washer, this work horse is not concrete like the old style, but rather heavy duty plastic. Even though the sink isn’t located in the dark recesses of the basement, it does see its fair share of gunk. Some paint stains, mostly pink from Paige’s room, and indiscriminate kitchen floor debris, decorate the inside. A constant fixture in the sink is a soak bucket. Merritt splatters four bibs a day with lovely, healthy stuff like berries, kale and tofu.

Yesterday, as I was reaching into the soak bucket to pull out the bibs, I was struck by the word “when”. Literally the word “when” was at the bottom of the sink. It was a lost magnet from the refrigerator magnet set that attempts to get my kids thinking creatively as they ask, “How much longer before dinner?” Among the pink paint stains and the hairy stuff that clogs the drain was “when”.

“When?” I laughed at the absurdity of the questioning sink. “I don’t know when?” I answered back.

Before Merritt was born I had an insatiable need to know when - along with why, where and how long? My control gene was a dominant pest. Not only did I need to know each event or outcome, I had to plan it. Even now when I think about that need to control I feel stressed. “When” can suffocate the most competent person with its persistent questioning.

“When will the kids be able to wash their own hair?” “When do I get to go on a girls trip?” “When can we afford to redo the kitchen?” “When will the disease take a turn for the worse?” “When will the day run smoothly?”

Merritt’s disease had a profound affect on my control gene. Most of my questions about her life couldn’t be answered. Like a two year old who finally outgrows the need to ask “why?” I learned to stop asking. I realized God has the answers and maybe I’m not supposed to know why or when or how long.

I backslide with my questioning, trying to figure things out on my own. But because I’ve learned that the answers may not be revealed on my timeline I ask the questions less often. My “when” is half way down the drain.