Have you ever been asked what decade you would like to live in? I think I would like the 40’s or 50’s. Life seemed classier and more honorable back then. We fought against evil, dressed like ladies and gentlemen, and listened to Sinatra. I probably have some sort of irrational decade-envy but it sure seemed better back then.
You want to know what decade I don’t want to live in: anything before modern science. Ya know, the dark ages. Back when they thought the world was flat and stars were pinholes in the blanket that covered us every night. Frankly, everything seems more harsh back then. When was the last time you saw a horse with heated seats? Good luck finding hot water for a shower. And who wants to live in a world without cheesecake? Come on. I like my Spotify, Cinnabon cheesecake, and (sometimes) hot shower in the morning.
But one thing that might be sweet would to simply not know, not know what’s out there or in here. It leaves room for imagination, doesn’t it? A little more room to wonder about what really is under all that water or why I feel on cloud nine or who poked those pinholes in the blanket.
It seems like we’ve almost everything figured out now. There’s just a couple whales under that water, dopamine makes me happy, and those pinholes are enormous spheres of burning gas. We have degrees and blogs and Google. What don’t we know? What can’t we come to know? Just Google it. There’s ten different “7 things…” lists out there for anything you could possibly want to know.
But I wonder if this easy and enormous flow of knowledge damages our ability to wonder, to be fine bobbing in the boat of not knowing? Does the need to know everything anesthetize us to the infinite unfamiliar? I mean, think of Adam. He’s probably the least knowledgeable human to ever exist. He was practically a man-baby (No offense Adam…). But he and Eve seem to be the only humans to experience perfect rest, perfect satisfaction. And it didn’t come from knowing more or having more or doing more. It came from waking up and walking in the cool of the morning, letting the wonder of a new day wash over their senses. Their souls were fed and overwhelmed by wonder.
And it wasn’t superficial wonder. All of it was grounded in someone: their walking buddy, their breath of fresh air, their God. That’s what made the wonder matter. He’s what infused creation with satisfaction. Otherwise it would just be sound and color. Creation matters because He said it was good, He told us it was good.
But we lost our love of wonder. With a bite we chose to know what was good for ourselves rather than bask in the goodness of God-with-us. Now it’s on us to make our lives meaningful, to satisfy our souls. That’s a scary thought, isn’t it? Its so scary that we become insecure and power hungry and bet our lives on our tiny two hands.
But ya know what, it’s ok not to know.I don’t know how to make today matter. I don’t know what or where God is working in my life. I don’t know most things. But it’s ok. It’s actually good because it leaves this wonder-full emptiness where God can come and fill with whatever he pleases. And from what I do know, he’s pretty good at making something spectacular out of nothing.
So here’s my advice:
Take a deep breath.
If you’re one of those people that loves Jesus, tell Him,
“Today is not on me, I trust you.”
And then ask God,
“Where are we walking today?”
If you don’t get a response, don’t worry, He just wants you to follow.
So go ahead, start walking.
Or hop in your car. Cause it’s good to live in the twenty-first century, people.