I’ve heard it said many times and even experienced it on occasion: hindsight is twenty twenty. It’s what we say when we know that we didn’t fully understand a situation as it was happening or didn’t take into consideration all the possibilities. Sometimes these words are spoken with a hint of regret.
Several weeks ago, I had some visitors from out of state, the kind of friends who, despite poor communication between us the last while know just how to pick up where we left off last time; the kind of friends who have enough history to be dangerous and incredibly valuable all mixed together.
One afternoon, we decided to make the trek to Estes Park to see the sights and the small mountain town charm. I love that three-hour drive because of the beauty of snowy peaks nearly all the way. Only this time, there was no view because of heavy cloud cover. We drove through rain over half the way and found snow about ten miles out from town limits.
Our way was clear. We arrived at our destination regardless of the view (or lack thereof) outside of our windows. For the last hour of drive time, I had a feeling, an awareness that something was just outside of my perception, and if I squinted into the mist, I could see faint outlines of craggy peaks. I knew we were in fact surrounded by tall, majestic mountains, but I knew that only because of past experiences there on the same road months ago. This time, my eyes were telling me something else entirely.
We spent the night at a great little motel called the Haber, and the following morning we awoke to sunshine and clear skies. The giant peaks that had been hidden from us the day before were unmistakably large before us. We saw what we could not see only hours earlier. The beauty of it all had us pulling out our phones to capture Rocky Mountain majesty.
Later as we drove out of town and down the winding mountain road, I caught a glimpse in my rear view mirror of the glorious white peaks sprawling and towering on the retreating skyline. I kept glancing back at the view, seeing in hindsight what I would have liked to see the day before when we were heading the opposite way.
In a moment I began comparing all of this to the struggle in my heart to believe in the goodness of my Father. I know it’s true. I believe it. He is so good, but then there are days when what my eyes are telling me is completely different than what I have experienced in the past, and the only reason I know it’s truth is because I have been here before, on this same winding road, the one with the view.
Just as I knew that the Rocky Mountains had gone no where but were only hidden by fog and mist and snow clouds, so I long to know the goodness and faithfulness of God, believing that he is trustworthy even when foggy circumstances and mist-shrouded situations keep me from seeing his face or his ways. He is a good daddy, and he is never unkind.
I want the kind of faith that patiently waits for the fog to lift, revealing the glaring sight of God’s faithfulness that is too big to ignore because of its shear size and grandeur.