It can take ten thousand years for the light from some of the stars in our galaxy to reach us.
Why should we then expect to immediately understand the story of our lives?
* * *
* * *
Joseph, in the well, abandoned, betrayed.
It seemed meaningless–because the next chapter was yet to be written.
Joseph in charge of Potiphar’s household.
The shepherd boy becomes the head butler in an Egyptian country house.
Was that the meaning of the well, and the humiliations of slavery at the hands of the hairy Ishmaelites?
Part of it. The story was still being written. He was in it. How could he understand it?
* * *
The dungeon, punishment for righteousness.
“But, Lord, I thought I understood the plot you were writing. NOW WHAT are you doing?”
Utterly forsaken.
But the dungeon, you see, was the way for the butler of a small manor to meet royalty itself.
The means of Joseph’s elevation to an entirely different social, economic and political circle.
Let no one underestimate the creativity of the Master Craftsman of the Universe.
* * *
We cannot understand the story of our lives while we are still living them. We do not understand the significance of each plot element yet. It takes the retrospective glance to understand.
And my story? It has foolishness in it, things I have done. It has sin in it, my sin. It has sin in it, sins against me. It has injustice in it, injustices committed against me. It has apparent dead ends, and missed opportunities and incomprehension and heartbreak.
And because a master writer is writing it, it has gold in it, infinite possibilities for redemption. I don’t yet know how God will weave all the plot elements together into an eternal beautiful story, and make it all work out for good, but I know he will. He’s that smart.
And I trust him.
