Knowledge…it is something I value above most things. As a writer, my favorite days are research days…when I spend hours combing through Google articles, my eyes scanning texts for nuggets of information as my fingers tap out questions like: Why did megalodons go extinct? How does the filibuster actually work? Who invented the water slide? What exactly does G-force mean? And though sometimes it takes a bit of digging and much cross-referencing of sources, I can usually come up with the answer (the climate changed, hard to say–but one of the first recorded water rides was built in New Zealand in 1906, the force of gravity or acceleration on the body).

Whenever someone in our house is feeling unwell, I turn to Google for a diagnosis before calling the doctor’s office. When our beloved Newfie passed away last month, I researched pet cremation because I wanted to know what would happen to him next. And when my brand new sewing machine quit working correctly, I turned to YouTube to figure out how to fix it myself–and learned about the function of tension in the process!

People say that knowledge is power, but its power comes from the fact that it leads to understanding. And understanding leads to informed decisions.

That’s why it often confounds me that so much of faith is still a mystery. Despite all of my knowledge of God, I still have so many unanswered questions. Why does God let people suffer? How does eternity work? Is heaven really a place in the hereafter, or do we have it all wrong? Will God truly send people away from him after working so hard to save humanity? If God forgives and forgets, why do so many churches still talk about judgement? And how can God really be everywhere at once?

Yet as I was meditating on Psalm 8 last week, a thought occurred to me. Though there are many mysteries in this life of faith, perhaps the biggest mystery of all is that God loves us.

We are a people who spend most of our waking moments focused on our selves–on our self-preservation and self-perpetuation. If I’m being honest, I would have to say that a large chunk of my thoughts are self-directed, from pondering what I want to eat to thinking through conversations in my head, it’s all about me, myself, and I. Sound familiar?

And yet, God loves us anyway. Why? We’ve never once given him a reason to do so. In fact, a quick scroll through history will show that we’ve given God ample reasons to wash his hands of us. But instead, he keeps calling. From the beginning to the end, our Father who loves seeks us out and gathers us home. And this all-consuming love of God is, I think, the greatest and most holy mystery of faith–a strange and perplexing force out there hovering in the cosmos like the Oort Cloud (Google it). I can’t tell you why God continues to love us–it’s enough to know that he does.

God set us apart…making us just less than divine, Psalms says, but crowning us with God’s own glory and grandeur. It’s overwhelming to think about–kind of like looking up into the vastness of the night sky. When I consider the stars, I am diminished. I remember that in the grand scheme of the universe, I am but a blink, a breath, a bubble. When I’m gone, I will leave nothing lasting–nothing immemorial. My name will not become a question future Jeopardy contestants will answer. But yet, God says, “You matter to me.” And he says the same to you.

How do we respond to such a mystery? How do we let the knowledge of God’s unfathomable love shape us? My hope is that it moves us out of ourselves just a little bit farther and closer to the one God has called each of us to become in him.

This week, I would encourage you to spend some time outside looking to the sky. Lose yourself in the great cosmos of stars and planets that circle above. Be small, and in that smallness remember how very much you are loved. And let that love be enough.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara