Imagine this: God invited you and I to His own future-obsessed support group. What do you think the meeting would be like? If I know God, He’d invite us in and have us take our place. There would be no question regarding the legitimacy of our presence; it would be clear to both of us that we belonged here. We would be in attendance because of this one truth: we needed Him and we didn’t need our addiction to prediction.
Then, when we had gotten our bearings, He would ask us: “So, what is it about your future that you feel you have to know?” He would not patronize us, He would compel us to offer up the keen longings of our heart. He would hear us out well. He would not interrupt. And in instances where we would stop short of telling Him everything that concerned us, He would gently encourage us to not be afraid. There would be nothing that He wanted left out of the things that were important to us.
When we were finished, there would be a moment of tender quiet. We would be ripe to hear, for the first time, His words. They would unfold upon us as words that were true, where ours where hypothetical and predicated on possibilities we couldn’t guarantee. They would be words that came with the very power of assurance, for they would convince us that He knows all things, and therefore, we are not obligated to know so much ourselves. We would be stilled and aware that we were secure.
All propensities to wonder–with trepidation–about God’s plans would be soundly laid to rest. We would understand this rich theme of our histories with imposing clarity: God established the arch of our personal story, starting at the end and finishing at the beginning. This is the same as saying that there was never a time when God did not know our story completely. When we were conceived in His mind, He experienced no progression of knowledge. He knew us at once and, in the perfect time, manifested our presence on this earth.
God doesn’t have knowledge like ours–finite and dependent on gradual accumulation. What He knows today He has always known and what He will know tomorrow is not something He will acquire when He gets there. Time carries on outside of God–He observes it as a being who abides by not one of its rules. And when, He decides all is right, He will put a stop to time. He will no longer utilize it for His purposes, but will introduce we who are presently trapped in time to the infinity that He knows. We will be welcomed into everything He has always known that we have never been able to accurately perceive.
We will trust Him in full because every reason we have for doubting Him will be gone. We will live in His presence, knowing that He–and He alone–is the greatest reality; upon Him all other things hang and find what relative significance they may boast. Ours will be the wonder of knowing that God is not relative, but absolute–all things are confined to Him, but He is not confined to anything.
With a revelation like this, I ask you (and myself): In light of all this, what reason have you to think that your life, in every inch of its marvelous scope of detail, is not the precious masterpiece of your God? When we fully regard God, room in us for doubt is squeezed out by all the space our hearts need to house wonder. God is not small enough to figure out today. But, the more He dominates our perspective, we realize all measures of life’s abundance are empty, except He is the entire measure. When this is the case, we can rest at ease in whatever our condition, He is the entity who makes our condition His home too.