I forgot something.
It happens. Having written things down, they sometimes still are overlooked in the heat of composing. As it turns out, this was too important to just walk away.
The statement was, “You ain’t seen nothin’.” I never explained why.
In other words, you didn’t know you didn’t know.
“Somebody sneak a little Ritalin in your java? Sounds like you’re talking in circles.”
Our five senses – seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting and touching – are all we have. We tend to think they’re all there are. Likewise, our three dimensions. Since they’re all we’ve ever known, they must be all there is.
Knowing yesterday was going to be hot, this being a regular Kansas August, I was watering flowers in the morning, which included three mum plants. Each fall we buy two or three pots of multicolored mum plants to set out front, usually in an old wagon the grandkids have now outgrown. The color and greenery help make it home; when they’re done flowering and dormant, I clip them off and plant them with the mums and lilies already there. The following Spring they become part of the growing family of perennials in our gardens.
Spraying water on the mums, a small moth got irritated at the unexpected cold shower and flittered off. Probably muttering as well. Flitter-muttering.
They say a writer’s mind never shuts off; I’m finding it true. I instantly saw myself in the moth, angrily flying off, a growly frown on my face, loudly protesting the careless disregard of a God who has nothing better to do than mess around in the life of Dan.
“Why’d You let that happen? Why are You allowing this stuff to hit me? What’d I ever do to earn this?” Have I ever mentioned that’s a really bad bad question to ask your parents, let alone God? It’s truly breathtaking how unreasonable we can get when mad.
Did I know, in the grander scheme, if this capricious, bored Creator didn’t water the mum it would dry out and die, leaving no shady, cool shelter for me and all my bugged friends? Did I get that He could see a whole lot farther than I? That He sees and knows in dimensions of which I’m at present totally ignorant, and therefore able to recognize and protect me from dangers I never even know exist?
Nope. Sans clues. All I could see is my little mothy existence was inconvenienced and I was upset. Dan got wet. Bad God! Bad!
The little moth could only ‘see’ as far as its own horizons. Pathetically limited compared to me – my size, increased knowledge, experience and ability. Silly, isn’t it, for the moth to be griping about its rotten life when I’m the one able to see so much more, identify threats and calmly go about neutralizing them, going right on caring for the wellbeing of the little moth and its friends and neighbors despite their rancor at me for upsetting their tiny, daily existence.
It didn’t know it didn’t know.
Neither do you. You can’t see what, when or how God does. Whining about Him letting this or that come into your life in the way that He does makes as much sense as that little moth getting huffy at me for disturbing his morning nap.
And I know you do know this. Later, looking back, often you can see enough of what God was doing that you heave a huge sigh of relief and thanks that He didn’t give in to your whining and let you have your way. He knew it would cost you and hurt you far more, so He put up with your immature, ignorant abuse, even name-calling, loving you enough to keep you safe and growing in spite of yourself.
Nah. Ain’t none of us seen nothin’. And aren’t you glad?
© D. Dean Boone, August 2014