The mystery of not knowing—of living within the fog of God’s will—can feel wearisome to the soul. How often have I longed for certainty, for the comfort of knowing with absolute clarity what God desires of me? Surely, I think, if I could see His will laid out before me, the path would be easier to walk. In some ways, it would be: clarity brings with it a reassuring certainty. I would know, without doubt, what is asked of me, and all that would remain is to follow.
Yet, there is another side to this longing. What if I knew exactly what God wanted of me, and yet found myself unable—or unwilling—to do it? Then, the choice would be stark, unyielding: to obey or to refuse. In such clarity, my failures would be unambiguous, my refusals a conscious turning away. The shadow of culpability would fall heavily, for there would be no room for confusion or misunderstanding—only a deliberate “no” in the face of God.
Perhaps, then, the ambiguity that so often frustrates us is, in truth, a hidden mercy. The clouded intellect, the partial vision, becomes a gentle shield, softening the weight of our refusals. In His compassion, God allows us this uncertainty, preferring our salvation over perfect obedience. In the end, the very unclarity we resist may be the tender veil of His mercy, drawing us closer even in our stumbling and uncertainty.
Gun to his head, it seems God would rather I be saved than I obey him perfectly.