I am unable to tell you what I am going to write in the next ten minutes. The extent of my foreknowledge is measured in decimals.
Which written road shall I take? I don't know. Where shall I turn next? I don't know. I know that something needs to be written and said of God's faithfulness and goodness.
I know that he knows.
I know that he is my Father and it is his responsibility to take care of me and I know that he is more-than-equal to the task.
I know that he is calling us to bless. Whatever happens, in whatever way we can, we will choose to bless. We will choose to follow.
I know that he has given us the choice, that we are truly free.
I know that we might make mistakes and that he will love us just the same.
I know there is no reason to fear, no cause to worry. I know he has lifted us up too many times in the past to let us down now.
I know he has a pierced hand that can be held, that he no longer calls me slave, that he calls me friend. I know he has a heart that holds mine.
I know he means to make us stronger, that he means to have his love and grace and goodness radiate through our faces to those around us. I know he means to make our hope more tenacious.
These are things I know. Strangely, in the midst of this there is one other thing I know:
I know that I don't know. Not yet, not yet. And this is okay.