In one of my favorite movies, a woman tells the famous poet John Keats that she doesn’t understand his craft—she doesn’t know how to “work out a poem.”
“A poem needs understanding through the senses,” John explains to her. “The point of diving in a lake is not immediately to swim to the shore but to be in the lake, to luxuriate in the sensation of water. You do not work the lake out; it is an experience beyond thought. Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept mystery.”
I think about this scene often, because it makes me think about how we receive revelation. I sometimes wish God would plainly tell me what to do and what’s going to happen; it’s hard to accept mystery in life when what I crave is certainty. But deep down, I know Keats is right—it’s much less rewarding to swim straight to shore.
Proverbs 25:2 sheds a fascinating light on this concept, saying, “It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honour of kings is to search out a matter.”
In other words, God’s glory lies in keeping the shore from our view. Our privilege lies in learning to swim.
Learning to Swim
Before my junior year of high school, I contemplated switching schools. Both of my options presented legitimate pros and cons.
My patriarchal blessing promises that that the Lord will direct me in the high school I should attend and that I will “know this with a surety.” But as summer went on, I felt basically no direction—I knew nothing for sure. In fact, I was terrified by this mystery and the prospect of a new transition. But I eventually decided to enroll in the new school. I did the summer readings, told my old friends I would miss them, then leapt into the lake.
The first few days at the new school revealed a lot. People were extremely kind to me, but I felt an overwhelming darkness inside and a distinct pull toward my old school. Slowly, then all at once, the path became clear. I knew with a surety which school was for me, and a few days later, I transferred.
This was one of the first times I had to swim for a while before I saw the shore. And in hindsight, it was a valuable experience to have before I entered adulthood.
Luxuriating in the Sensation of Water
Ten years later, I’ve realized this experience did more than show me which high school to attend—it helped me become the kind of person who can endure mystery with faith.
Since that summer, I’ve weathered confusion about my health, asked questions about how to build and maintain relationships, and pondered over which paths I should pursue. Though sometimes painful and overwhelming, I can’t deny that these mysteries have empowered me. As God has concealed things, I’ve had the honor of being brave as I’ve searched for answers, and that process really has started to feel more natural. Sixteen-year-old Abby would be impressed by how much we’ve grown.
In Moses 1:39, the Lord tells Moses that His work and His glory are “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” In certainty, we don’t grow. And if we don’t grow, we don’t progress into eternal beings. Proverbs 25:2 is right: It truly is in God’s concealment that our potential is realized, which in turn becomes His glory. Ultimately, mystery works toward the glory of both us and Him.
As we swim through life, sometimes shore makes an appearance. Other times it doesn’t. But it’s “luxuriating in the sensation of water” that transforms our mysteries into sacred experiences. Slowly, I’m learning to float on my back, look at the sky, and marvel in the beauty of the swim.
More articles for you:
▶ A calming Isaiah verse for when you’re worried about the future
▶ Dwelling on the past? Here’s the key to moving forward
▶ What to do when you aren’t receiving blessings you think you deserve
