Knowing is your awareness of God, His nature, His nearness, and His unfailing promises. It is the soul’s recognition of God’s character, even when your circumstances seem to contradict it.
But Knowing doesn’t stop there. As we peel back the layers, we see it not only as confidence but as something timeless and more essential. Beneath the steadiness it gives us in hard seasons, there is something even more foundational. Something ancient and alive.
Before Knowing became your anchor, it was your awareness. Before it helped you hold on, it helped you see. Not with your eyes but with your spirit.
This is the Knowing that existed before sight, before sound, before language. It is your first sense. The one you were born with. The quiet, intuitive recognition of God, of safety, of presence, of love, before you had words to name them. This kind of Knowing doesn’t come through logic or education. It’s woven into your being. It’s how your soul recognizes truth without needing proof, whispering, “This is real. This is true. This is God.”
And though we were created with it, we lost touch with it along the way. Life got loud. Pain made us question. Culture taught us to trust our senses, our logic, our plans, but not always our spirit. And so this first sense, the one that once came so naturally, grew faint.
But it’s still there. Waiting. And this chapter is your invitation to return.
The Genesis of Knowing
I believe some of the profoundest truths are hidden in the simplest things. And too often we miss them. We’ve heard the story of creation so many times that it’s easy to skim past it, as if it’s a children’s tale or a poetic prologue to the “real” parts of Scripture. But what if it’s more than that? What if the creation account isn’t just a history lesson but a blueprint? A memory? A mirror?
In the Genesis story, we don’t just see how the world began. We see how we began. And more than that, we see how Knowing began. This first chapter of our human story is about more than light and land and animals. It is about the chemistry and symmetry between God and the ones made in His image. It is about the divine rhythm between creator and creation. It is about intimacy. Clarity. Connection. There was no fear. No shame. No confusion. Only presence. Only love. Only Knowing.
That is where Knowing began. Not as a concept. Not as information. But as communion. Before language, before law, before even need, there was God with us, and we knew him. This was humanity’s original state. Knowing was not learned, it was lived.
When we reflect on the story of creation, we often focus on the poetry of it. The rhythm of the repeated phrase,
God said, ‘Let there be...’ and there was.
We read those lines as if they are simply divine commands, echoing in an empty void, making things happen by force. And in a sense they are. But what we rarely consider is this: Who or what was on the other side of God’s command? There was no audience. No listeners with ears. No witnesses with eyes. And yet there was a response. A happening. A becoming.
The Word was spoken, and creation knew what to do.
That’s the mystery. There was no ear to hear, no brain to analyze, no interpreter nearby. Yet when God spoke, creation responded—not through the five senses but through something deeper. There was a transmission, a direct communion from Spirit to substance.
This pattern is echoed in the physical universe. At the fundamental level, matter responds to energy and frequency. Before there is form, there is resonance. Before there is sight, there is response.
It’s as if creation, from atoms to oceans, still remembers the sound of His voice.
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