There’s a question Jesus asks in Luke 12 that has been sitting with me for days now. It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. But it’s weighty.
He says that when people see clouds rising in the west, they know rain is coming. When a certain wind blows, they know heat is on the way. Those things happen—and no one argues with them. They’ve learned to read the signs.
Then He says something that feels less like a rebuke and more like a sorrowful observation:
“You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and the sky. How is it that you do not know how to interpret this time?”
That question hasn’t felt accusatory to me. It’s felt invitational. Like Jesus is saying, “You already know how this works. You’ve been doing it all along. What if the same kind of seeing applies here too?”
Seeing Before Arriving
There’s another question like this in Isaiah:
“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”
That verse has always stood out to me—not because of the new thing, but because of the timing. God says He’s doing it now, while it’s still springing forth. Before it’s obvious. Before it’s established. Before there’s proof.
Which tells me something important:
There is a kind of seeing that comes before clarity.
Before arrival.
Before certainty.
Perception isn’t hindsight alone. Sometimes it’s the first sign that something is already underway.
Learning to Read the Season
Jesus uses weather for a reason. Weather follows patterns. Clouds don’t mean rain because someone hopes they do—they mean rain because rain has come that way before.
Discernment, in that sense, isn’t mystical. It’s relational. It’s learning how God moves by paying attention over time.
I think sometimes we expect discernment to feel like confidence. But more often, it feels like recognition. Like, “I’ve seen this shape before.”
Not the outcome—but the movement.
When Feeling Far Away Is Actually a Sign
A few years ago, I found myself thinking again about things God spoke to me many years earlier—things about what He would do, what my life would be used for. For a long time, those words had felt distant, almost abstract.
But something shifted.
Instead of discouraging me, the distance itself became meaningful. I could see how far away I was—and strangely, that’s what told me I was finally on my way.
You can’t measure distance unless you know direction.
Before that, I wasn’t “far”—I was just un-oriented. Once the destination came back into view, the wilderness suddenly had context.
The Scriptures That Didn’t Disqualify Me—They Identified Me
Around the same time, I started noticing how much of my life lined up with what we often call the “negative” parts of Scripture.
Poor.
Ashamed.
Brokenhearted.
Captive.
Imprisoned.
Years eaten by locusts.
Long seasons of circling.
For a long time, I thought those things disqualified me.
But then I realized—those are the very conditions Isaiah 61 names as the audience of the good news.
Jesus didn’t announce resurrection to people who felt alive.
He announced it to the dead.
The depth wasn’t evidence of failure.
It was evidence that resurrection belonged here.
The more I recognized the “down,” the more I found myself expecting the “up.” Not because I was optimistic—but because Scripture had taught me the pattern.
Covered While He Passed By
There’s a moment in Exodus where God tells Moses, “I will make all My goodness pass before you.” Then He says something just as important: “I will cover you with My hand while I pass by.”
Moses didn’t chase God down.
He didn’t strive for a better view.
He stood still—and God passed by.
And when God did, He didn’t explain Moses’ future. He proclaimed His Name:
“The LORD, the LORD God, merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”
Looking back now, I can see that this is what God has been doing in my life. Not rushing me forward, but revealing Himself backward. Letting me recognize Him in places I didn’t know how to name at the time.
Covered.
Protected.
Not abandoned—just hidden while goodness passed by.
Thank You for the Process
There’s a song I’ve had on repeat lately called “Thank You for the Process.” And that phrase has felt true in a way it never did before.
Not because the process was easy.
Not because I would choose it again.
But because I can see Him in it now.
Gratitude like this doesn’t come from arrival.
It comes from recognition.
From realizing that nothing was wasted—not because everything was good, but because God was faithful.
So… Do You Not Perceive It?
I’m not writing this as someone who has it all figured out. I’m writing as someone learning to see—slowly, imperfectly, honestly.
But I am learning this:
If I can see Him there,
I can trust Him here.
And maybe that’s what Jesus was getting at all along—not scolding us for missing something, but inviting us to recognize what’s already been happening.
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