The desire for it wells up from somewhere very deep inside of me. I crave it. I feel compelled to lunge for it; to do whatever it takes to have it. I feel an urgency to take control, wondering what might happen if I don’t!
And so I go for it. I leap for it. I run for it. I grasp it as tightly as I can and clutch it with all my might.
Then without comment, control slips through my fingers like a mirage. It flutters like a leaf, blown upward into heaven.
I see now that it was all a tease. I never did have a grasp on that blasted control.
This makes me angry and frustrated. I shout at it to get right back here, and jab my finger at the ground in front of me. Then I whimper like a child because I need it so badly. But control is not mine to be had. It doesn’t belong in my hands. It belongs in God’s.
I look up to search His face, wondering why He has taken the control I so deeply long for. Is He taunting me? Is He Indifferent and aloof? Does he even see me all the way down here, beneath his throne?
I wave my hands frantically, to let him know that I need Him to send it back down. I’m ready to hold on more tightly, now. I won’t let go this time.
There’s movement. He sees me! He’s stooping low. For a moment, I’m terrified, and then I see kindness in His eyes. He whispers something into my soul and I lean forward to hear it. You were not designed to carry the burden of control. Won’t you let me carry it for you?
And then He shows me His hands. His massive, wise, holy hands. They are good, God hands.
And at first glance I didn’t notice, but now I do! He’s holding something, there. Are they threads? They’re translucent yet as strong as steel.
I look closer and see a trillion plotlines being woven together in such complexity and beauty, such that I’ve never laid eyes on. His strong fingers are twisting and tying and looping the details together—details of people who are known and loved by Him—in intricate patterns so that each thread moves the story along toward a conclusion that fills my heart with such joy I can hardly breathe.
I can’t see the ending; I can’t see the full pattern. But I just know that it is good.
“It is very good,” I hear Him say.
But when I turn my eyes back to His face, He is gone. Hidden from sight. Just like that.
It was only a glimpse, but it was enough.
I am settled now, at peace with what I can’t see and what I don’t know. I no longer feel the angst in my soul, pressing me to take and keep and have control.
He’s in control, so I don’t have to be.
This was first published on KateMotaung.com as a “Five Minute Friday” post–a challenge for writers to share their five-minutes-only writing. Come read what 98+ other bloggers have said about “Control”–or better yet, join them! Five Minute Friday: Control