I'm looking in on the good life i might be doomed never to find.

On my way to get dinner, I spent some time talking with God.  You see, we haven't been speaking much lately.  My silence isn't a result of a traumatic event or crisis of faith, but it's an occasional occurrence bred from some unknown source that I have repressed and buried so deep that I don't even know the root on a conscious level.

Anyway, I am driving along and asking God to allow me to rest in the knowledge that he knows my future.  He knows when I sleep, when I rise, when I will get married, when I will settle down, what I will be doing next year, two years, 30 years.  He knows.  His omniscience is supposed to be reassuring, yes?

Well, as I began to just sit, I realized that the source of my recent resistance to prayer is that I KNOW God knows. I began to realize that I was bitter that God has my days numbered and planned and yet he is allowing me to sit here and stress. 

So, since I've broken my silence, my metaphorical intestines revolted and a flood of word vomit spewed. 

I want to know.  I need to know.  Why won't you tell me? Don't you find this a little mean?  I don't get it. What's the harm in me knowing at least what lies ahead for me next year? I mean, how strange and creepy is it that someone knows you better than you? It's a little odd, you've got to admit. 

On my way back home, I rolled down my window to share in the crisp fall breeze and the vivid colors of the sunset.  The Shins New Slang played as the perfect soundtrack as the green in the trees contrasted subtly, yet beautifully against the darkening blueness of the fading evening sky, and a that point I began to rest in the knowledge that God knows my future and that was enough.