“Indeed, my plans are not like your plans,
and my deeds are not like your deeds,
for just as the sky is higher than the earth,
so my deeds are superior to your deeds
and my plans superior to your plans.” (Isaiah 55:8-9)
“Go ahead son, let go. You can trust me,” Dad said.
My feet dangled from a walnut tree, just beyond his reach. I shook my head and clutched the branches. A skinny six-year-old would have been an easy catch, but I wouldn’t make the leap. Something in my juvenile reasoning concluded that if I couldn’t catch a falling person nobody else could either, not even my strong father.
Now it’s my heavenly Father I’m disappointing with my lack of trust. As when I was six years old, my mistrust grows out of a failure to acknowledge the differences between me and my eternal Father.
There are two responses to the dissimilarities between God and me. The one I commonly adopt is to personify God. I do the same thing to my pets. “Hey old girl, you look like you want to go for a walk.” I project my thoughts onto my dog. Just so, I make God like me, and image him as aloof because I don’t relate to his wisdom.
The correct response is to be awed into trusting humility. Moses, Isaiah, Peter, and John all had common reactions when they encountered God up-close—they hid their faces and stumbled over what to say. That’s where I need to live, not contriving how God is, not limiting him by my understanding, but blown onto my face by a majesty to which I cannot find the edges.
The immenseness of God’s knowledge of love should leave me cured of trying to climb the tree of life by my strength and willing to fall limp into his arms.
Prayer: Holy One, I trust your wisdom for my life.