Why?

How in the world can a person be born, be educated, fall in or out of love, have a job, be married, give birth, raise kids, see death, cry, scream, giggle, drink, eat, smoke, climb up or down the ladder, retire, and die without ever, ever asking why? History is absolutely full of people who lived and died without a purpose. Neighborhoods reek with mediocrity. Office complexes are painted gray with boredom. Nine-to-fivers are hypnotized by routine. But does anyone object? Does anyone defy the machinery? Does anyone ask why?

Sometimes I want to stand at a street corner and scream, “Doesn’t anyone want to know why? Why lonely evenings? Why broken hearts? Why abandoned marriages? Why fatherless babies?” But I never yell it. I just stick my hands in my pockets and stare. . . and wonder.

The most deadly trick of Satan is not to rob us of answers. It’s to steal our questions.

When you churn out the numbers of books Word Publishing demands of Max Lucado it's very difficult to give the reader little more than fluff. I found his early works much more thoughtful and far superior to what he's writing today. The above is taken from Max Lucado's first and arguably best book-- On the Anvil