A lot of things about life are mysteries. Death. The sea. The marriage of the moon and the tide. That some of the “stars” we see are actually galaxies. And the amount of space that lies between our eyes and that distant galaxy.
Or the mystery of a washing machine … and why you can put in 12 perfectly matched pairs of sox and pull out eight sox, none of which match anything. Or the mystery of how every lane you enter magically becomes the slowest — whether lanes in traffic or at the supermarket or at the movie theater. Or the mystery of why your peanut butter bread always falls butter side down. Or the mystery of why your car or appliance gives you trouble except when the repair-person takes a look at it.
Or the mystery of the love of God. God has carved your name on the palm of His hands, right next to the nail prints. Nothing about any of us can ever disillusion God about who we are when no one else is watching; God has known all along who you are when no one is looking. And when you shock yourself by the memory of what you actually have said or done in your life, you never shocked God. It’s not that God understood and excused everything you have ever done. He absolutely never has. Instead, this is why you see Christ on the cross.
The biggest mystery of all.