This reflection is inspired by the sermon “God Knows — Breaking Habitual/Secret Sin” preached by John Bradshaw of It Is Written, which I watched on YouTube (https://youtu.be/sw_kc81wO0Q). When I first listened to it, I did not expect it to stay with me the way it did. But long after it ended, one truth kept echoing in my heart: I am living every day before a God who knows everything.
Before Jeremiah ever spoke as a prophet, before he wrestled with fear or stood before kings, God declared that He knew him before he was born. That thought has been deeply personal to me. Before I had direction, before I made mistakes, before I even understood faith, God already knew me. He knew my strengths and my weaknesses. He knew my future doubts and my future growth. Nothing about my life has ever taken Him by surprise. That realization brings comfort, but it also brings responsibility. If He has known me from the beginning, then my life must have purpose beyond my own ambitions.
Psalm 139 says that God knows our thoughts from afar. I find that both beautiful and unsettling. It is one thing to believe that God sees what I do; it is another to accept that He sees what I think. The silent judgments. The quiet jealousy. The hidden fears. The thoughts I justify because no one else hears them. Yet none of them are hidden from Him. Christianity, then, cannot simply be about behavior modification. It must be about heart transformation. If God knows my thoughts, then I cannot pretend spirituality while nurturing inner compromise.
Daniel 2:22 reminds us that God reveals deep and secret things. That verse has caused me to reflect on what I try to keep beneath the surface. We all have areas we would rather manage quietly—struggles we minimize, patterns we excuse, habits we promise to address later. But living before an all-knowing God means accepting that there is no “later” where He is not present. Hebrews 4:13 makes it clear: nothing in all creation is hidden from His sight. Everything is laid bare before Him. That does not mean He stands ready to condemn; rather, it means He invites honesty. If He already knows, why do I still attempt to hide?
What struck me most in the sermon was how prophecy itself demonstrates that God knows the future. History unfolding exactly as Scripture foretold reveals that the chaos of our world is not chaotic to Him. When I feel uncertain about tomorrow, God is not uncertain. When I worry about outcomes, He already sees the end from the beginning. That truth steadies me. The One who knows my hidden motives also knows my unfolding story.
Even the seemingly small story of the floating axe head in 2 Kings 6 has taken on new meaning for me. When the borrowed axe head fell into the water, it felt like a minor inconvenience in the larger biblical narrative. Yet God intervened. He caused iron to float. That miracle reminds me that nothing in my life is too small for His attention. If He cares about a borrowed tool, He cares about the quiet anxieties I carry, the responsibilities that weigh on me, the moments that feel insignificant but heavy.
I was also struck by the account of King Ahab in 2 Chronicles 18. When Ahab said, “I hate him,” referring to the prophet who spoke truth, I recognized something uncomfortably familiar. It is possible to dislike correction simply because it confronts us. I have to ask myself whether I love truth when it challenges me as much as when it comforts me. It is easy to embrace promises; it is harder to embrace rebuke. Yet if I truly believe I am living before an all-knowing God, then I cannot selectively accept His Word. Faith cannot be a buffet where I choose only what feels comfortable, and this reminds me of Bradshaw’s striking words: “Faith in God is not like a buffet where you choose your favorites and refuse the broccoli, the Brussels sprouts.”
One of the most piercing reflections for me has been the question: What am I dedicating my life to? In a world filled with distractions, it is remarkably easy to give my best energy to entertainment, to scrolling, to constant noise. Bradshaw reminded us: “There are people today dedicating their lives to Netflix, TikTok — Christian people who are indistinguishable from worldly people.” I can relate to that too often. And yet, the question he left me with is even more personal: “What are you dedicating your life to knowing that Jesus had died for you, how much space do I have for Jesus in my life?”
Living before an all-knowing God is not meant to produce fear; it is meant to produce sincerity. He knows my beginning. He knows my thoughts. He knows my secrets. He knows my future. The question that remains for me is not whether He knows me—but whether I am willing to live transparently before Him. This first part of the journey has reminded me that I cannot compartmentalize my faith. Every thought, every motive, every priority exists in the presence of the One who sees fully and loves faithfully.
And that realization calls me not to hide—but to draw nearer.
