The Lovely Will Of God

With my eyes newly opened to the absolute goodness and selflessness of God, my entire attitude toward His will was transformed. In the past, I had viewed God’s will as something set against me; now I discovered it was wholly for me. I had feared it as something harsh; now I saw it as something to embrace with joy. I once thought His will was the terrible weapon of His severity, descending upon me to punish. Now I saw it as the tender instrument of His love, bringing into my life only what was kindest and best.

I realized that the will of perfect, unselfish love could only be good, and that since God possesses all knowledge and all wisdom, His will must — by its very nature — be the best thing the universe could offer. No greater bliss could come to any of us than to have that beautiful, selfless will perfectly done both in us and for us.

Sometimes hiding myself in God’s will felt like retreating into an impregnable fortress of love and protection, where no harm could reach me. At other times it felt like sinking into the softest bed of down, resting in perfect peace. I can never fully put into words all that I began to see of the loveliness, tenderness, generosity, and infinite goodness of the will of God. I truly reveled in its sweetness.

This did not mean life would be free of trials; a wise and loving will might see trials as necessary gifts of love. Nor was it essential that I perceive the divine hand in every difficulty. My common sense told me that if God is omnipresent, He must be present in my trials as well — and, being there, He must be there to help and bless.

We are not wise enough to judge whether our experiences are truly joys or sorrows, but the Lord knows. And because He loves us with limitless, unselfish love, He cannot fail — literally cannot fail — to make even the things that appear hard, or cruel, or wicked, work together for our greatest good. I say “cannot fail” because it is unimaginable that such a God could act otherwise.

It does not matter who begins the trial — whether human malice, spiritual evil, or our own foolishness. If God allows it to reach us, then by that very permission He makes the trial His own, transforming it into a chariot of love that carries our souls to blessings we never could have reached otherwise. For the Christian who dwells in the fortress of God’s will, there are no “second causes”; nothing can enter that fortress unless th e Divine Keeper of it opens the door.

And when He does, it means He has adopted that thing for our eternal good.

Joseph was sold into Egypt through the wickedness of his brothers, yet God made their cruelty the very chariot that carried him to triumph. So we may be more certain of this than we are that the sun will rise tomorrow: God’s will is the loveliest thing in the universe for us— not because it always looks best, but because it cannot be anything but best, being the will of infinite love.

I found myse lf continually singing Faber’s beautiful hymn: “I worship Thee, sweet will of God, And all Thy ways adore; And every day I live it seems I love Thee more and more.”

One verse delighted me especially because I so often found it true in experience: “I know n ot what it is to doubt, My heart is always gay; I run no risks, for, come what will, Thou always hast Thy way.”

The first time I realized this in a deeply practical way was three days after the birth of my beloved baby girl — a child I had longed for with unspeakable yearning, who felt to me like the most exquisite treasure ever entrusted to human care.

My nurse had suddenly fallen ill and was forced to leave, so we had to bring in a stranger whose looks I mistrusted and whose ignorance seemed obvious. At that time trained nurses were far less common, and I felt this one was wholly unqualified. I could hardly bear to have her touch my precious child, yet I was not allowed to care for my baby myself.

It was winter, and a bright wood fire burned on the hearth of my room. On the nurse’s first evening, after settling me in bed, she sat close to the fire with my baby on her lap. Soon she fell into a deep sleep, snoring loudly, and I awoke to see my infant lying perilously near the blaze on her slanting knees, while the nurse’s head drooped dangerously above her.

My voice was weak, and I could not rouse her. I expected at any moment to see my little one roll into the fire. I could make no one hear me, and to rise from bed and cross the cold floor might have seriously harmed my health. Yet my anxiety drove me upright, and I was struggling to stand when suddenly these words flashed through my mind: “I run no risks, for, come what will, Thou always hast Thy way.”

With those words came a deep conviction that my child was u tterly safe in God’s care. A profound peace settled over me. My head sank back onto my pillow and my soul sank back into the sweetness of God’s will. I saw that my baby was cradled in the arms of almighty love. I fell asleep without a trace of fear and woke to find her being tucked beside me for her feeding.

It was beyond words beautiful to have experienced such a practical revelation of the loveliness and blessedness of the will of God.

Since that first awakening, I have had many similar insights, and I have come to know — beyond even the faintest shadow of doubt — that the will of God is the most delicious, delightful reality in the universe. This is not because life always unfolds according to my preferences, nor because of any special piety in me, but simply because plain common sense tells me that the will of perfect, unselfish love could only be delightful. Heaven is heaven precisely because God’s will is done perfectly there; and earth would inevitably resemble heaven if His will were perfectly done here.

For years I had heard Christians describe consecration to God’s will as a spiritual achievement so lofty that only a few exceptionally devout souls could hope to reach it. But once I discovered the infinite unselfishness of God, I realized that consecration is not an attainment at all — it is a priceless privilege. I am convinced that if people truly understood the beauty of His will, not only the particularly devout but every soul in existence would rush to choose it gladly for every moment of their lives.

This is not a higher degree of piety; it is simply a higher degree of good common sense. If I were lost in a trackless wilderness, unable to see any way out, and an experienced guide offered to lead me to safety, would it feel difficult or sacrificial to pl ace myself in his hands and say, “Your will be done”? And if not, how could it feel burdensome to entrust myself to my heavenly Guide and say, “Thy will be done”? It cannot— it is impossible. Surrender to God, or consecration as many call it, is the greates t privilege offered to any soul in this life. To say “Thy will be done” is one of the most delightful sentences a human being is permitted to utter.

An old writer once said that God’s will is not a burden to carry, as so many imagine, but a pillow on which to rest. I found this profoundly true. My soul sank into His will with an indescribable sweetness of peaceful content. At other times, saying “Thy will be done” felt like a magnificent cry of victory — like raising a triumphant banner before the entire universe and daring it to oppose me. So vivid was this feeling that I found myself repeating, day and night, as a victorious soldier might sing after battle: “Thy wonderful, grand Will, my God, With triumph now I make it mine; And Love shall cry a joyous Yes T o every dear command of Thine.”

But I could never fully tell all that my soul discovered when I discovered the goodness and unselfishness of God. To say that He is enough is to give a complete and unshakeable answer to every doubt and question that can ever arise. My feelings may not always confirm that prayers are answered or promises fulfilled — but what of that? Behind every prayer and every promise stands God Himself — the sheer God, if I may put it so — and if He exists at all, then He must be enough.

For years I had sung the familiar words: “Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in Thee I find.”

But until now, I had never understood what they truly meant. They had sounded beautiful, but only as a poetic sentiment. Now I saw that they state a fact. I had begun to discover that He really was everything I needed — and that infinitely more than all I could ask or imagine was stored up for me in Him.

In a certain sense, my search for God ended there, for I had found that He was enough. I have discovered many other beautiful and precious truths about Him since, but at that moment I had reached Himself — the real God behind all appearances — and my heart entered into its rest. I saw that nothing else ultimately mattered: not creeds, nor ceremonies, nor doctrines, nor dogmas.