By Bob Hansen
When I was a kid, I didn’t like going to the dentist. (It’s different now—just kidding.) However, there was one appointment that was much better than the others. The reason? The element of surprise. I didn’t know a thing about my appointment with “the chair” until minutes before.
I awoke, as normal, and prepared myself for school. But my mother announced, “You’re not going to school today.”
Good news.
“You’re going to the dentist.”
Bad news.
I suppose the injection hurt as much a usual. Like any other time, the drill ground away at my tooth, sending splinters and spray into the bright overhead light. But it all came upon me suddenly. I’d had no time to fret over the upcoming experience. I had even slept well the night before the event. What an improvement.
I wish all my stressful appointment could happen that way. Need an operation? Why not keep the scheduling vague. Then, when you least expect it, you get the call. “You need to be at the hospital in fifteen minutes.”
Yes, those 900 ticks of the clock would be filled with intense horror. And true, that’s enough time for my body to turn to Jell-O and my mind to whip cream, but it’s only fifteen minutes.
Semester finals could be administered in the same way—on a surprise basis. Think of the worry that would be saved. I can almost sense a spirit of tranquility spreading over campuses.
I believe that God agrees with this line of thinking. I think he joys in surprising us in so many ways. How many times has an event in your life advertised itself far in advance? Do you see a rising cloud of dust on the parched horizon? Have you heard the pound of hooves as the ride and his stead approach? Does he come gradually into view, emerging from obscurity?
My experience is usually more sudden. In fact, at the risk of appearing irreverent, I’ll share a kind of game I’ve played with God. When I’m in a situation where I know that God must come through, I will sometimes try to figure out how he will do it. I’ll set my mind to list all the possibilities. When I’ve given it a lot of thought, I almost, though not quite, say in my mind, “I’ve got you this time.”
Then, of course, God answers the prayer in a completely unexpected way.
I’ve come to call this the “Unknowability Principle.” It states that as soon as you think of a way that God will do something, He will automatically do it a different way. Thus, He will surprise you while demonstrating His far-superior ways.
Most of the time I like this about God—though—maybe just once, I’d like to guess right.
Bob Hansen writes from Chehalis, Washington. Bobhansen6@juno.com