Freedom of Information Act

The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may follow all the words of this law.
Deuteronomy 29:29 (NIV)

One of the most painful and difficult seasons of my earthly journey was the dissolution of my first marriage. It’s not a dull, focused pain, but a sharp one that branches in many directions. There are so many places it touches. There are my own personal failings and poor choices. There is the 20-20 hindsight of the many things I could have and should have said and/or done – things to which I was woefully blind at the time. There are the painful consequences and ripple effects that the end of the marriage thrust upon one another, our daughters, and those in our circles of relationship.

I remember two very strong and honest reactions from our young teen daughters at the time. I found these two to be ironic opposites. On one hand, they had seen and perceived more than I realized. A piece of them was not surprised. On the other hand, there was a desire — shot out like a demand — to know everything. A teenager’s personal Freedom of Information Act petition, proclaiming her right to know everything about the breakdown of her parents’ marriage.

What was received was disappointment. Some things might be shared and understood with time, maturity, and life experience. Time and distance is required for some things to be viewed in proper context. And, there are other things that will remain hidden, things understood only by the two who shared them.

On this life journey, not everything is meant to be known.

In today’s chapter, Moses stands before all of the Hebrews and ratifies God’s covenant with them. The Jordan River flowing behind him and the Promised Land in the distance, the ancient leader says, “Before you cross, look back.”

This chapter ratifies the covenant anew—not just for those who saw Egypt crack open, but for everyone standing there… and everyone yet unborn.

Blessing and curse are laid bare. Obedience brings life like rain on dry ground; rebellion brings rot, exile, and future nations asking, “What happened here?”

And then comes the line that purrs and growls at the same time:

“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our children forever…”

Mystery stays veiled. Responsibility does not.

One of the most profound truths I’ve had to learn to embrace as a follower of Jesus is that mystery is intimately woven into the journey.

Some eyes see but don’t perceive.
Some ears hear but don’t understand.
Some things are hidden, even from God’s own Son.

“But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”
Matthew 24:36 (NIV)

Some things remain a mystery. The angsty teenager within me filing my own personal Freedom of Information Act petitions with my heavenly Father had to learn to live with disappointment.

Further in my journey, I found that disappointment eventually gave way to humility and faith. As I attempt to follow in Jesus’ footsteps I find in His own example a peace and complete trust to leave certain knowledge with the Father, despite what I might argue is His divine right to demand it.

That final verse of today’s covenant renewal falls like a gentle, holy hand on my shoulder this morning:

I am not required to solve God.
I am required to respond to Him.

Some things remain veiled. That’s okay.
But what has been revealed—love God, walk humbly, choose life—that belongs to me. Today. Right now.

So with humility and faith, I sign my name again in the quiet.
And I walk into a new work week embraced by covenant and mystery.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

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Jesus replied, “The Father alone has the authority to set those dates and times, and they are not for you to know.” Acts 1:7 (NLT)

One of the more difficult aspects of going through a divorce is the struggle to know when to speak, and when to be silent, with your children. This is especially true when they are teenagers. Seven years ago, as I walked that painful stretch of my own journey, I found two easy temptations with regard to talking to my girls.

First, I discovered the temptation to say too much because the breakdown of the marriage is affecting them so acutely and I wanted desperately want to provide some reason, understanding, and context. Second, I recognized the subtle, self-centered temptation within myself to want the girls to take, or at least to understand, my side of the story. What teenagers, in their stalwart belief that they are both fully mature and completely omniscient, fail to understand is that information without context, knowledge, wisdom, and discernment can become both a burden and a curse. It is said that ignorance is bliss, and sometimes that is true. Sometimes it is the very least appropriate for the situation.

As children, we often feel that we have a need to know things. We will even go so far as to think that we have a right to know certain things. We live in a culture steeped in First Amendment rights and the Freedom of Information Act coupled with an almost instantaneous access to any piece of arcane trivial information you could desire. People even publicly post the most mundane and salacious facts about themselves on Facebook and Twitter. Television programming projects an endless hunt for the most juicy, private personal gossip about celebrities 24/7/365. It is no wonder that we feel so entitled to know so much about so many.

I found it interesting in today’s chapter that Jesus deflected some of his followers’ questions. Father God knows things we don’t know. He holds certain things close to the vest, and as His children we are all on a need-to-know basis. For some children, this seems terribly unfair, unjust and spurs fits of childish rage and rebellion. Personally, I find comfort in the fact that He’s got it under control and I can trust Him with that. Someday, when I’m ready and it’s appropriate, He’ll perhaps share some things with me. Perhaps by that time it won’t really matter. Until then, I can let it go and experience the freedom that comes from not having to know certain things.