Some days it's the last thing I feel - relevant. I know the music only after it's become famous and the trends whoosh by me faster than cars on a freeway. I feel like the questions I want to ask come from some other non-relevant place - because I long to know if Flannery O'Connor's vision of God matches mine, how to tell a good story, how to weave beautiful words for the people I love. I want to know how to learn and grow and fight for the things that matter, and so often those questions quake and shiver under the looming, "Is it relevant?" question.
But here, in this hotel room as the hairdryer hums and the baby squeals, as I feel the weight of rocking that baby to sleep last night in my left shoulder blade, and wonder about all of the hidden secret things of being a mother, I don't measure a question by its relevance to next year or next week or even the dreaded, "what will you do after college?" Instead I measure my questions by their joy and light and life - by how deeply I long for their answers, how long I will journey out on a limb just for the enjoyment of it.
I want to know the way to Him from a thousand angles, I want to know how to fight with Him and feel His grace, I want to know how to treasure up all these things and ponder them in my heart while I listen to the people around me. I long for the beautiful, irrelevant answers that are the only relevant answers: the ones about Him.