Who knows the way it is?
Who knows what time will not tell us?

Where is the beginning?
Where is the end?
Why did we fall into days?
Why are we calling out into the endlessness?

From Enya, "The River Sings"

The answers to these questions shape who are are, and the way we act. For quite a long time I've intellectually answered these questions for myself with Francis Schaeffer's elegant summary "He is there, and He is not silent." But I'll admit to not really internalizing this point of view.

I ignored with my choices what I knew was true, and constantly tried to go it alone. And yet, always, He was there, and He was not silent. "He chastises His loved ones" and now I look back and see that my pursuer is also my Friend and my hunter is my Father. No action is so awful, so irrevocable, that it is impossible for the Creator to make bridges, smooth paths, and open doors. It's only for me to seek the strength, grace, and ability to do what's right.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
 I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
 Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
                 Up vistaed hopes I sped;
                 And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
                 But with unhurrying chase,
                 And unperturbèd pace,
               Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
                 They beat--and a Voice beat
                 More instant than the Feet--
               "All things betray thee, who betrayest Me."

Francis Thomson.  The Hound of Heaven.