I’ve been thinking. How many paragraphs start with that opener? And how many of them are discarded instantly. Let’s face it. We all think a TON. Probably too much for our own good, but whatever. We can’t help it, so carry on.
Here was my thought.
What if we’re already programmed with information we don’t know yet. Now, even though I read a lot of Stephen King weirdness, I’m not trying to go all sci-fi on you. Promise. Just think about it. What if w…
Well. Let me back up first.
I kind of look at my life like it’s a ball of clay. And God, unrestrained by time, looks at it for what it is. He sees me for everything I am, every particle, every shape, every color. He knows every form the clay can take, every ingredient that’s in it. He sees what I began as, what I am, what I could be, and what I will be. While all I can tell is that I’m different from what I was, I have no idea what I’m becoming, but I’m currently being punched and pulled. As He’s molding me, He knows I’m just where He wants me and sees my life as the thing He’s making it to be. To Him, that’s what I already am: what He’s working towards. So I should never be discouraged by where I am now, by what He’s doing or not doing in my life. By where I want to be but am not yet. Because He looks at me and sees all of me in one piece–my beginning and end, my mistakes and victories, my journey and completion. He looks at me and sees the finished product. For all intents and purposes, I already am the finished product…and He can’t wait for me to get there. So why would I ever doubt His molding?
The clay almost seems to move as He’s fashioning it, moving in rhythm with the hands that are making it into something grand. It loosens up as it realizes it’s about to be something extraordinary, and it wants to be the thing He’s forming it into. As soon as God looked at the clay and decided it would be a certain finished product, it was always destined to be that product. Because He chose it, as soon as it was His, it was no longer clay but immediately and forever that product.
But time makes things sticky.
It’s hard to grasp that time is a physical thing, an earthly thing that God can look at and play with if He wants to. It has no hold over Him, though it messes with our heads and hearts and lives. While He can look at the lumps of clay that we are and see every stage of our molding in a split-second glance, we can only feel the current pulls and pushes we are experiencing. But that’s not who we are. Who we are is the thing God sees. And He sees the end too.
He knows who you’ll marry, how many kids you’ll have, where you’ll work, how you’ll die. It’s all part of the snapshot of who you are, the entity of you, to Him. He knows all these things, but we don’t. Obviously.
But I wonder: what if we do?
What if somewhere in the deep part of us that wasn’t created in this thing called “time,” we know it all too? Not that we are omniscient, but that we are who we will be because, if unrestrained by time, we would already be that person. What if our minds and bodies are stuck in this time web, only able to see about five feet ahead in the fog of the present, while our souls are fighting back with the understanding of who God really created us to be…the person we call our “future selves.”
What if our souls, uncomfortably shoved deep below our physical and mental selves, still retain a self-image that reflects God’s vision of us? Meaning that, somewhere subconsciously, you know the name of your future husband or wife. You know your kids’ names. Where you’ll work. Etc. etc. Because it’s already who you are. You just don’t know it yet.
Maybe it’s the reason you feel a small sense of comfort when you hear certain names. Why you always look up at that one building you pass on the street and find so lovely.
Why you get deja vu and premonitions and dreams.
And you can choose to pay attention to these things, these little hints, or you can reject them. Certainly, the clay can melt and fall apart because it refuses to be what it can’t see yet. He did give us free will, after all. But He also gave us His voice, saying, “This is what you are in my eyes. Not what you could’ve been if you’d acted differently. Nor what I want that you can’t possibly live up to. No child, you are to me as I see you: a beautiful journey, not a single stage of life, but a work of art.”
Maybe we should start listening a little more closely.