His Ways Are Not Like Ours: (And This is Good)

My hands tremble as I write these words. Because I don’t know what it will mean in my life.

I tremble at the thought of grief–where I never expected it. But also I tremble at the thought of joy.

Where I never expected it.

Because,

His ways are not like ours.

I read it in Isaiah 55 this week:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

Isaiah 55:8-9

I’ve read this passage many times. I’ve often wondered at it, tried to stare into it’s mystery. Trying to see more of it. Like the way I stare into the sky to see the stars that look so small. My eyes cannot behold what they really are, in their full blazing beauty, with all the hazy miles between us.

And so it is with Him.

His ways are not like ours.

And this is good.

It’s good in a way I can’t always wrap my head around, or heart around–here. On earth.

To say His ways are good doesn’t mean they are easy or they make sense to us. To say His ways are good–is to speak in faith.

Our eyes can’t always see the goodness here on earth. But our hearts can believe that one day, when we stand before His throne in heaven–when the stars are no longer distant specks in the sky, but feel as warm and close as sisters, and when angels’ voices we hear, and saints and elders and nations bow low before His throne, in the posture of worship before the King–that on that day–when the wisdom of God is at last revealed in all it’s fullness–we will say with warm and happy tears,

“Yes, Lord, yes. All your ways were good.”

I don’t pretend to know what it will be like. But knowing His character, and His kindness I can only imagine the deep healing (the healing of the nations) that will take place in heaven. The deep soothing, and consoling work of Christ, who took all our suffering and grief upon Himself–how much deeper will that healing go, when we are together, face to face?

How will it feel to be wrapped in His arms and His warm thumb is wiping the tears away from your cheeks, slowly, and gently, and He is speaking something into your ears (too mysterious for you to have understood on earth), then the healing will go deep down into you, and taste sweet like honey.

I can only imagine this. And it will be better than what I can imagine.

I have to keep an eternal perspective, I have to imagine what it will be like in the end, in heaven–otherwise, I simply cannot bear it. All the grief. That is here.

Not only from my own life, but in my friends. In people I scroll through on Instagram. Not just the evil in the world. But the stories of people dying. The emails I get from so many grieving women. Some who could never concieve, many who miscarried, and others who gave birth to stillborn babies. Grief that is so deep, I cannot even begin to wrap my mind or heart around it.

What can I say? How can I respond? Except to grieve. Grieve with them.

I do this. And I pray.

I bow my knees on the cold floor and bow my face low. And when I pause before Him, I realize how exalted He is.

I am before the LORD. The maker of heaven and earth.

I don’t know what to pray, and yet I tremble before the one who made the stars, who opens wombs, who breathes life into babies, who heals the body, who rules the nations.

And whose ways…are not like mine.

He openly declares this. (Isaiah 55:8-9.)

And recently, I realized that God is offering deep comfort in this passage, one I had not seen before.

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth,

making it bring forth and sprout,

giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,

so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;

it shall not return to me empty,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”

Isaiah 55:10-11

I’ve often heard this scripture in the context of sharing the gospel with people. I’ve heard street evangelists say to just hold signs up with God’s Word on them, and unbelievers will read those words, and they will have to have some effect, because “God’s word never returns void!” (And I’m not dissing that interpretation.) But, I saw something different, something more,

when I read it on my knees.

When I read it thinking of all the grief of my friends, and loved ones. All the prayers I am petitioning on behalf of other people. All the questions and confusion and mystery and sorrow–that I don’t have answers for–that cannot be revealed until heaven. It didn’t sound the way I read it before. It sounded different to me. It sounded altogether comforting.

Because I don’t know how God will answer my prayers, but the God I’m praying to, says this:

So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth,

it shall not return to me empty,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”

Isaiah 55:11

Let that sink in.

His word does not return to Him empty.

It accomplishes exactly what He purposes. Every day.

Nothing in this life will be able to steal His purpose or His glory. He absolutely will carry it out in full perfection. He is God.

Every single rain drop that falls from the sky, goes where He sends it.

Every snowflake.

Every sperm and egg that meet and grow into life, are in His command.

Every person is breathed out by Him, and formed in His hands, whether they only live to be as small as a grain of rice, or as large as a full grown NBA player.

None of His commands return to Him empty. But each one, as large as the mountains, or as small as a grain of sand–accomplish the purpose for which He desires.

I don’t know what the future holds. I have many times tried to brace myself for all my fearful imaginations of what “could” happen. And it’s not helpful. And it’s not faith. Imagining every worst case scenario and trying to prepare yourself is not faith–it’s fear. And fear is something we are not called to live in.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7

So there are two things going on here. There is the grief I feel for people who are suffering. And there is fear of my own suffering and grief I will have to endure in this life.

Both are crippling. Both are very real and legitimate responses though, for living in a broken, fallen world. Because there is so much pain here.

So there is grief that it happened to them.

And fear it will happen to you.

How are we to go on living?

We can spend ourselves in sorrow and tears.

We can waste our years, entangled in fears.

But, is that really living?

I don’t know the future. I don’t know what is ahead in my life, or my kids, or those I love.

But I know this, and here is where I find my comfort and solace:

The word that goes out from His mouth–will not return to Him empty.

Long life or short. Pleasure or grief. His word (what He says, ordains, speaks into existance) will not return to Him empty.

But will accomplish that which He purposes.

And shall succeed in the thing for which He sent it.

I recently heard author Nancy Guthrie speak on the Risen Motherhood podcast. She spoke about her children that were born with a rare metabolic disease and lived only a short time.

But then she said something that brought me weeping to my knees.

She said she had to trust that “God’s purpose would be completely accomplished in her daughter Hope’s life in the number of days that he gave to her.”

And that amount was 199 days.

It makes me weep. And this is not my story, and I don’t pretend to know the pain of parents who have endured this. But from this woman who has been there, I can hear the comfort in her knowing, that as unimaginable as it must have been, she was able to rest in that God had given her the exact amount of days to accomplish His purpose.

(You can hear that incredible episode here at Risen Motherhood. )

And I have to find comfort here. Because I don’t know the number of days I have, or my children have, or my husband, or anyone else I love.

But I can know this:

His word will not return to Him empty.

It shall accomplish His purpose.

And succeed in the thing for which He sent it.

Maybe you are filled with grief. Or, maybe you are filled with fear. Or, maybe both?

If you are staring down the valleys of the shadows of death, if you are fearing all sorts of evil or pain…

Know that you have a Good Shepherd who watches over His word. Who watches over you.

And He promises that just like the rain and snow fall from heaven, and water the earth, making it flourish and bud—

He says, “so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth,

it shall not return to me empty,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” Isaiah 55:11

And this gives us great hope, and great peace.

He has told us His ways are not like ours, that they are higher than the heavens are above the earth. And we can stare into the sky and see the little specks of stars.

They look small and dim.

But one day, we will see them as they are. Bigger than the sun, and blazing in all their beauty.

And one day, we will see Him as He is.

In all His glory.

In all His goodness.

Until then…Let us not live with a spirit of fear. But with great abounding peace, knowing:

His word will not return to Him empty,

but He will accomplish that which He purposes,

and succeed in the thing for which He sent it.