The Lord is near all who call out to him, all who call out to him with integrity. ~Psalm 145:18
God’s providence is often better seen in retrospect—through the rearview mir- ror—than in the moment—looking through the front windshield. And it’s usually only recognized by those who have eyes to see it.
Not long ago, Nancy and I were invited to a dinner meeting at a lovely restaurant in downtown Grand Rapids.
When we arrived, we gave the maître d’ the name of our party. We were promptly escorted to a private room where our nicely-dressed server greeted us warmly. Once we were seated, he handed each of us a leather-bound menu with the name of the restaurant embossed on the cover. Nice. Opening the menus, we were greeted by the latest in touch screen technology for our menu. Very nice.
Once we had placed our orders, we settled into comfortable chairs and uninterrupt- ed conversation with our friends. In just the right amount of time, our server returned with our appetizers. And soon, our salads. When our server returned the next time, he was accompanied by three additional waiters, who were carrying our entrées.
This was the first time we had seen these other three, but they knew exactly who had ordered what. This was especially impressive, as the plates they were holding were covered with shiny chrome domes.
Placing our dinners in front of us, they looked to each other for a signal. Then, at precisely the same moment, the silver covers were lifted . . . followed by a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs.” The entrées looking up at us after the big reveal were just what we had ordered. Nicely done.
The problem is, however, when it comes to real life, what’s on our plates under those chrome helmets is something we didn’t order. And because the selection on others’ plates is clearly visible to us, we’re sometimes tempted to compare ours to theirs.
“That’s not fair,” we may protest. “This isn’t what I wanted. Why didn’t I get that dinner rather than this one?”
But more often than not, we don’t get to choose.
What we’d prefer would be to “order” what looks good to us—our “best-life-now” hopes and dreams—and then to have the server return, lift the silver dome, and voilà, exactly what we ordered.
And occasionally this may actually be the case. No surprises . . . exactly what we’re looking for. But sometimes it’s not. Often, it’s not. God’s divine sovereignty is usually a surprise to us mortals.
So why would we trust a God who doesn’t give us what we want? In fact, why would a good, loving God serve up unappetizing things?
You can keep your cancer. I’ll take a pony.
But then there’s Joni. Even though she cannot move her fingers, perhaps no Chris- tian leader I’ve known has more of a solid grip on the subject of God’s providence than Joni Eareckson Tada.2
Soon after the tragic diving accident in 1978 that rendered her a lifelong quadri- plegic, her good and wise friend Steve Estes came calling. After days of hard con- versation about God’s ways in the midst of suffering, Steve said these words that, according to Joni, forever emblazoned the wonder—even the joy—of experiencing a loving Father’s providence: “Joni, sometimes God permits what He hates, to accomplish that which He loves.”
Another way to say the same thing is the title of this Insight. You and I really can trust God to write our story. 3
1 The title and excerpts for this article are taken from Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth and Robert Wolgemuth, You Can Trust God to Write Your Story (Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2019).
2 For more about Joni, see Insight for the Day 189—Through the Eyes of Pain.
3 Joni Eareckson and Steve Estes, A Step Further (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1978).