From the fifth floor of Saint Thomas Rutherford Hospital, one can see a wide sweep of the city of Murfreesboro. Although my daddy used to call this area the flatlands, from this panoramic view, there are beautiful hills and mountains in the distance. It happens that my father-in-law’s extended hospitalization brings me to this room, on this floor, with this view, to see over the traffic and roadways and buildings, and witness the vastness of this area we call home.
As I read the first two chapters of Numbers, the view this morning was riveting from so high above the city. All this world is in God’s good hands.
The book of Numbers gives the account of the nation of Israel’s wanderings in the wilderness. The people received the Law at Mount Sinai and began the journey to the land that God had promised them. Because of his love, and despite their rebellion, God made a way for them to be in his presence by building a tabernacle.
Numbers opens with God meeting with Moses in the tabernacle to give specific instructions for a census to be taken. Marching orders were given for each tribe as they moved through the wilderness. Chapter two gives a description of how each tribe should be arranged within the camp. God’s dwelling place is at the center of the tabernacle.
In the past, I’ve read about the census of the Israelites and skipped past it, not giving it much thought. God is in these details. The census helped the Israelites see and trust they were in God’s good hands. The arrangement of the camp symbolized to them that God is in the center of their lives.
In Numbers 2:32: “These are the people of Israel as listed by their fathers’ houses. All those listed in the camps by their companies were 603,550.”
The people of Israel were listed and ordered by tribes. God kept track of each tribe and person. He loved the Israelites. They were in his good hands. He didn’t lose track of them.
When my oldest daughter was 3 years old, I had an experience with losing track.
It happened at a local store. As soon as I released the straps of the car seat and helped her stand beside me, she slid her little hand in mine. This was twenty-seven years ago, yet I remember well the feel of her soft, dimpled hand and the fact that she trusted to reach for mine. She trusted that I’d keep track of her; I’d keep her safe. In a matter of minutes, we were browsing the racks in the women’s department. With simple directions, I instructed her to please stand close to me. Our hands released. My eyes no longer on her, I lost track.
Sliding hangers along the rack, I suddenly realized my little girl was no longer by my side. I had lost my child in a store. Isn’t this every parent’s fear? In a blur of rising panic, trying my best to remain calm and focused, I saw her dart between clothing on a nearby rack. Immediately filled with relief and gratitude, the emotion of fear and frustration that she had wandered off was swiftly replaced by the realization that I had lost sight of her. My eyes were not on her.
Suffice it to say, we had a conversation that day, and I’m certain in the days that followed. I learned a lesson that I haven’t forgotten. I imagine my daughter learned something that day as well. Of course, this is not the only time I lost track as a parent. It is meaningful that this is the memory that came to mind as I looked out the hospital window and read of God’s meticulous organization within the Israelite camp in the wilderness. Everything under his control and in his good hands as they moved toward the inheritance he had promised. The details of the census and the placement of the tribes remind us that He has us and is working according to his good purpose.
God is constantly aware of our lives and what is going on in our hearts. It is a comforting assurance that even when we feel hard-pressed, lost or alone, God is with us. He doesn’t lose track of us. God’s attention is always on his children. He draws us near.
We are always in God’s good hands.