That may be how I feel some days, but the feeling doesn’t last long. It is tempting to think it’s a preferable situation not to be aware of being watched by God – “if I can’t see you, you can’t see me” – but this can’t possibly be so for the sake of our souls. Even though I hid from my mother, I would never have wished to be separated from her person and her love. Just as I would be crushed if bereft of her when I was a child, even greater would be my sense of lostness and desperation – personally and eternally – were the Lord to withdraw.
“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your Presence?” says the psalmist (Ps. 139:7). These seem like questions that a fleeing sinner would ask in an effort to avoid the frowning countenance of the Judge God. However, it is David rehearsing the comforting doctrine of a kind Sovereign whose jurisdiction is endless, without limit or restraint, so that no matter where he goes, God is there.
But not only can nothing be hidden from God, there also is no place where we can go without Him there: God’s nurturing, teaching, sanctifying, enabling Spirit is there; God’s grand and awesome Presence, all the wisdom, all the holiness, all the truth, all the justice, all the goodness, all the power, follows us everywhere. What a comfort that is! No, I would not have the oblivion of childish thinking, but I delight instead in the sustaining and governing providence of the all-seeing, all-knowing, always present Lord. Instead of hiding under the covers, thinking He can’t discover me, I raise my voice to call out, “Find me, God! Find me!”
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.