As I thought back over Audrey's reaction, I realized that I play the game similarly. Except, I play with God.

With an excited, eager smile, I'll slip my hand into His, and cry "Lead me!" in childlike delight. For a while, all is well. But as soon as the terrain begins to alter, I crack open an eye to take a peek.

Oh boy. I wish I hadn't. One of the paths ahead is riddled with pot-holes and leads straight into the heart of a forest. Dark trees crowd all around, obscuring my view-- and it's infested with ugly little spiders, no doubt! Naturally, I start to protest. (Just in case.)

By the way... ah, if You're starting to get any ideas, when I said that I wanted You to lead me, I didn't mean that You could ever lead me there, Lord. Just thought you should know.

I've seen Him take other people down rough roads before. They learn contentment and joy in suffering. Which is great, of course... for them. Panicking, my instinctive reaction is to yank my hand away when I start thinking in "what-ifs".

Look here, Lord, I've got this incredible blue-print for my life-- see?-- and it involves serving You this way, this way, and this way. I've thought about it extensively, and these are very good, God-glorifying plans. Listen, You can still lead me, and that's just fine, but only if I'm the one giving directions here. I really, really don't get along that well with spiders.

We all know the feelings of uncertainty and fear that invade our hearts as we wonder about what the future will hold. Questions roll in like the black plague: Where will God take me? What does He want from my life? Will the Almighty snatch away my dreams of happiness, to glorify Himself and teach me contentment? Ah! Noo!

The health, wealth, and prosperity-centered gospel confidently asserts that God will lovingly grant us everything we desire, but we know that He doesn't. The lady in my church, awaiting her diagnosis for a medical condition, knows that He doesn't. The young girl in Cambodia, sold into slavery at five, knows that He doesn't. The single woman, longing for marriage and a family, knows that He doesn't. The dear lady I talked with yesterday, whose husband left her last month for another, knows that He doesn't. We Christians don't lead lives any more charmed than the rest of the world.

Our futures will hold elements that you and I wouldn't exactly volunteer for. We're going to have troubles, and we're going to have heartache. That is a guarantee. We live in a fallen world; how could it be otherwise? But there are two things that we must always remember when we're staring fearfully at our potential forests-- and when we're walking straight through them.

Sovereign Isn't Enough

First, it is insufficient to simply know that God is sovereign. His complete, perfect sovereignty is the most comforting truth in existence, but only when it is coupled with intimate knowledge of another facet of His character: His goodness.

Our God is not a cruel, unjust tyrant, manipulating circumstances in our lives to inflict us with torment and make us miserable. He is good. We don't deserve it and can't explain it, but He is. Though our circumstances will vacillate, His goodness will never alter.

"Which of you," Jesus asked, "If his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!"

So when we ask for a nice, roasted fish, and it looks as if He's handed us a hissing, fanged viper-- He hasn't. What He gives us certainly won't always be what we desire; there are times when His will involves great pain. But in the end, we will never be rendered unable to whisper, "Thank you." Because He is good. Always.

The Beauty Contest: My plans vs. His plans

Second, we could never map out a more beautiful future for ourselves than His. I could spend years trying to concoct the most idyllic, detailed set of plans for a fairy-tale life, but they couldn't even begin to rival the magnificent story the Author has in mind. In fact, while I'm sure I'd be quite enamored with my castles in the sky, putting me in control of my life would undoubtedly result in a sorry mess. Who am I to deem myself wiser than my Maker?

"For your thoughts are not my thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord. "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 cannot tell what the complete, finished portrait will look like yet. He does. He sees the trials I'll go through, and the pain. But He also sees everything that I, short-sighted creature that I am, struggle to grasp. Out of ashes, beauty. Every road I walk through, used as a brush-stroke to magnify His name a little more, and conform me more into His Son's own image. I don't need to see the picture unveiled to know that it will be absolutely perfect. He is the artist, after all.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord. "Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future."

With the promise of Jeremiah 29:3 ringing in my ears, even spider-infested forests don't really sound quite that bad. The woman of Proverbs 31 "laughs at the days to come". I like that. Why should we tremble at the unknown, when the God we trust is so good?