have you ever noticed that when a bird sings, it puts its whole body into it? the music isn't just something you hear, but it's seen, it's felt.
it's beautiful.
i watched a song today.
and my heart smiled
life-sharing...
a couple days ago i started the first of many small group meetings with some girls from a ministry i help with. these three girls were friends; they went to church together, went to school together, hung out at each others house, and shared with each other.
so then, what was i there for?
here i am, a new person trying to butt in to their way of life. i have a completely different lifestyle than them. i was raised completely different than them. i have experienced life situations completely different than theirs.
what did i have to offer? how could i even begin to relate to them?
so, at my wit's end, i started the meeting with the ultimate, deep, getting-to-know-you question that people have started associating me with.
i asked them what their passion in life was.
and i was NOT prepared for their response. sure, they gave responses similar to what i had heard before: music, animals, art, etc.
but they also shared parts of their life with me.
one of the girls shared exactly where she was with this whole God-thing, explaining that she just wanted to be a normal kid, but had all this pressure to be religious, and to go to church, and to do this, and that. and that she was tired of it.
granted, that wasn't all she said, but it's enough for now.
and it struck me: these girls had all the Bible lessons they needed. they have had enough advice to last them for the rest of their life. they had enough medicine to cure whatever ailed them.
but they didn't have anyone to share life with.
and i realized, that is what i have to offer.
i can preach and read the Bible and pray with them all i want, but they need someone who will love them for who they are. they need someone who will share in their ups and downs, their successes and failures. they need someone who can say, "hey, it will be alright. we'll get through this."
they need someone to share life with them.
and i need someone to share life with me.
Jesus said, "i am the way, and the truth, and the life..."
when we are sharing life, we are sharing Jesus.
and that is an amazing thing...
so then, what was i there for?
here i am, a new person trying to butt in to their way of life. i have a completely different lifestyle than them. i was raised completely different than them. i have experienced life situations completely different than theirs.
what did i have to offer? how could i even begin to relate to them?
so, at my wit's end, i started the meeting with the ultimate, deep, getting-to-know-you question that people have started associating me with.
i asked them what their passion in life was.
and i was NOT prepared for their response. sure, they gave responses similar to what i had heard before: music, animals, art, etc.
but they also shared parts of their life with me.
one of the girls shared exactly where she was with this whole God-thing, explaining that she just wanted to be a normal kid, but had all this pressure to be religious, and to go to church, and to do this, and that. and that she was tired of it.
granted, that wasn't all she said, but it's enough for now.
and it struck me: these girls had all the Bible lessons they needed. they have had enough advice to last them for the rest of their life. they had enough medicine to cure whatever ailed them.
but they didn't have anyone to share life with.
and i realized, that is what i have to offer.
i can preach and read the Bible and pray with them all i want, but they need someone who will love them for who they are. they need someone who will share in their ups and downs, their successes and failures. they need someone who can say, "hey, it will be alright. we'll get through this."
they need someone to share life with them.
and i need someone to share life with me.
Jesus said, "i am the way, and the truth, and the life..."
when we are sharing life, we are sharing Jesus.
and that is an amazing thing...
the vision
The vision?
The vision is Jesus: obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus. The vision is an army of young people. You see bones? I see an army. And they are free from materialism - they laugh at 9-5 little prisons. They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday and wouldn’t even notice. They know the meaning of the Matrix. The way the west was won. They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations, and they need no passport. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence. They are free, yet they are slaves to the hurting and dirty and dying.
What is the vision?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure. Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation. It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.
This is an army that would lay down its life for the cause. A million times a day its soldiers choose to lose that they might one day win in the great “well done” of faithful sons and daughters. Such heroes are as radical on Monday mornings as Sunday night. They don’t need fame for names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: “COME ON!” And this is the sound of the underground, the whisper of history in the making, foundations shaking, revolutionaries dreaming once again.
Mystery is scheming in whispers, conspiracy is breathing… This is the sound of the underground. And the army is disciplined - young people who beat their bodies into submission. Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tattoo on their back boasts “for me to live be Christ and to die is gain.” Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. Martyrs. Who can stop them? Can hormones hold them back? Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them? And the generation PRAYS like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and great barrow loads of laughter.
Waiting. Watching: 24-7-365.
Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules, shaking mediocrity from its cozy little hide, laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers cannot mold them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late-night parties before the cockerel cries.
They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive (on the inside). On the outside? They hardly care! They wear clothes like costumes: to communicate and celebrate but never hide. Would they surrender their image and their popularity? They would lay down their very lives, swap seats with the man on death row, guilty as hell: a throne for the electric chair.
With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they PRAY as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them. Their DNA chooses Jesus (He breathes out, they breathe in). Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.
Their words make demons scream in shopping malls. Don’t you hear them coming? Herald the weirdoes! Summon the losers and the freaks. Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes! They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension.
Their prayers summon the Hound of Heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden. And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will come soon. How do I know? Because this is the longing of all creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God.
My tomorrow is His today. My distant hope is His 3-D. And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great “Amen!” from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ Himself.
And He is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner. Guaranteed.
- Pete Grieg - "The Vision"
The vision is Jesus: obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus. The vision is an army of young people. You see bones? I see an army. And they are free from materialism - they laugh at 9-5 little prisons. They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday and wouldn’t even notice. They know the meaning of the Matrix. The way the west was won. They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations, and they need no passport. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence. They are free, yet they are slaves to the hurting and dirty and dying.
What is the vision?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure. Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation. It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.
This is an army that would lay down its life for the cause. A million times a day its soldiers choose to lose that they might one day win in the great “well done” of faithful sons and daughters. Such heroes are as radical on Monday mornings as Sunday night. They don’t need fame for names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: “COME ON!” And this is the sound of the underground, the whisper of history in the making, foundations shaking, revolutionaries dreaming once again.
Mystery is scheming in whispers, conspiracy is breathing… This is the sound of the underground. And the army is disciplined - young people who beat their bodies into submission. Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tattoo on their back boasts “for me to live be Christ and to die is gain.” Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. Martyrs. Who can stop them? Can hormones hold them back? Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them? And the generation PRAYS like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and great barrow loads of laughter.
Waiting. Watching: 24-7-365.
Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules, shaking mediocrity from its cozy little hide, laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers cannot mold them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late-night parties before the cockerel cries.
They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive (on the inside). On the outside? They hardly care! They wear clothes like costumes: to communicate and celebrate but never hide. Would they surrender their image and their popularity? They would lay down their very lives, swap seats with the man on death row, guilty as hell: a throne for the electric chair.
With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they PRAY as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them. Their DNA chooses Jesus (He breathes out, they breathe in). Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.
Their words make demons scream in shopping malls. Don’t you hear them coming? Herald the weirdoes! Summon the losers and the freaks. Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes! They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension.
Their prayers summon the Hound of Heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden. And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will come soon. How do I know? Because this is the longing of all creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God.
My tomorrow is His today. My distant hope is His 3-D. And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great “Amen!” from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ Himself.
And He is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner. Guaranteed.
- Pete Grieg - "The Vision"
every grain of sand
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.
Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake,
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.
-bob dylan
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.
Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake,
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.
-bob dylan
Rich Nathan's Opening Remarks at the Democratic Candidates Forum
Sojourners: Pentecost 2007
The Democratic Candidates Forum Opening Remarks
Rich Nathan
June 4, 2007
Washington, D.C.
Sometimes we can best understand the role of faith in politics by listening to the way people of faith responded to crises in their day. Nearly 1600 years ago, in the year 410 AD, the city of Rome was invaded by an army of 40,000 led by a general named Alaric. The attack on Rome send a shockwave through the world that was much greater than the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Many Christians believed that the fall of Rome signaled the end of the world, or at least the end of Christendom, since Christianity was the established religion in Rome.
The great St. Augustine responded to this equation of the fortunes of Rome with the fortunes of God’s Kingdom by writing his immensely important philosophy of history called The City of God. In it, he distinguished between Rome which he called The City of Man, and the heavenly kingdom which Augustine called The City of God. The City of Man, he said, was enamored with its own strength; the city of God is enamored with God and says "I love you, my Lord, because you are my strength."
Now, the person of faith is a resident of both cities. We live in time, but we belong to eternity. We are deeply engaged in this world, doing all we can to love our neighbor, and work for justice while we acknowledge that we don’t ultimately belong to this world.
According to Augustine, people of faith hold dual citizenships; we are resident aliens, or in the words of Jim Wallis’ magazine, we are sojourners. It is precisely the dual citizenship of people of faith that both the secular left and the religious right deny. And in one of the strangest ironies in contemporary politics, the secular left and the religious right end up in precisely the same place. The secular left denies that there is a City of God to which they are morally accountable. There is only the City of Man – utterly autonomous, self-confident, answerable only to itself. The religious right equates the City of God with the City of Man. America is God’s chosen nation, our perspectives are God’s perspectives, our fights are God’s fights. So in its triumphalist self-confidence, "because God is always on our side," the religious right also ends up unaccountable to God.
How can we, as people of faith, carve out a space that rejects both the secular left and it’s ideological twin, the religious right; one that recognizes our dual citizenship? How can we create a society that sees itself as morally accountable to God and His Kingdom? We can start by asking President Lincoln’s great question: Not is God on our side, but are we on God’s side?
Let me suggest three simple guiding principles to assist us in determining if our political choices are on the side of the City of God. First, how does this political choice play out for the marginalized? The Hebrew Bible reminds us over and over again to remember the widow, the orphan, and the alien. To remember the widow, the orphan, and the alien – the most dependent, the most vulnerable, the one’s living closest to the edge.
Today we would say that the most dependent, and the most vulnerable certainly include the immigrant, the uninsured, and the hungry, the unborn in the womb and their mothers, the residents in the Darfur and the victims of AIDS around the globe. When we stand before the God of history, he will not ask us about our GPA or our incomes, or what political party we supported. The God of history will ask us what we did for the least of his brethren. As Jesus said, "As you did for the least of these my brethren, you did it unto me."
So, how does this political choice play out for the marginalized? That’s the first principle in deciding if we are on God’s side.
Second, how does this political choice support global peace? The Hebrew Bible speaks of a day when we will beat our swords into plowshares. Jesus, the Messiah, is called the Prince of Peace. The first thing Jesus said following his resurrection is "Peace be with you!" The Eucharist Christians share is called in Roman Catholic tradition, the "Peace." The church is always called to be a peace movement. That is why Augustine, who originated the Just-War Tradition, said that Christians ought to be the most reluctant to go to war and when we do, we always go with tears.
As I’ve said to the church I pastor, how did it come to be that we evangelicals have become the chief advocates of war of any demographic in the country? We Christians ought to be the hardest to convince; we ought to require the highest burden of proof; we ought to demand the most evidence, before we support any military action. The church is always a peace movement.
Third, and finally, in deciding if we are on the side of God, we must always ask do we see ourselves as answerable to God. God forbid that we should project evil onto the other – onto the Arab, or the Persian, or the North Korean – still less onto the secular left or the religious right. As Solzhenitsyn said as he was lying on a rotting bed of straw in a Soviet Gulag, The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either, but right through every human heart, and through all human hearts. This line shifts. Inside us, it oscillates with the years. Even within hearts overwhelmed by evil, one small bridgehead of good is retained; and even in the best of all hearts, there remains a small corner of evil.
Only if we as individuals and as a nation retain the capacity to be self-critical, to see evil in ourselves, to see ourselves as ultimately answerable and morally accountable to the City of God and to the God of that City, can we have any hope that we, as people of faith, are on the side of God.
Let’s pray.
The Democratic Candidates Forum Opening Remarks
Rich Nathan
June 4, 2007
Washington, D.C.
Sometimes we can best understand the role of faith in politics by listening to the way people of faith responded to crises in their day. Nearly 1600 years ago, in the year 410 AD, the city of Rome was invaded by an army of 40,000 led by a general named Alaric. The attack on Rome send a shockwave through the world that was much greater than the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Many Christians believed that the fall of Rome signaled the end of the world, or at least the end of Christendom, since Christianity was the established religion in Rome.
The great St. Augustine responded to this equation of the fortunes of Rome with the fortunes of God’s Kingdom by writing his immensely important philosophy of history called The City of God. In it, he distinguished between Rome which he called The City of Man, and the heavenly kingdom which Augustine called The City of God. The City of Man, he said, was enamored with its own strength; the city of God is enamored with God and says "I love you, my Lord, because you are my strength."
Now, the person of faith is a resident of both cities. We live in time, but we belong to eternity. We are deeply engaged in this world, doing all we can to love our neighbor, and work for justice while we acknowledge that we don’t ultimately belong to this world.
According to Augustine, people of faith hold dual citizenships; we are resident aliens, or in the words of Jim Wallis’ magazine, we are sojourners. It is precisely the dual citizenship of people of faith that both the secular left and the religious right deny. And in one of the strangest ironies in contemporary politics, the secular left and the religious right end up in precisely the same place. The secular left denies that there is a City of God to which they are morally accountable. There is only the City of Man – utterly autonomous, self-confident, answerable only to itself. The religious right equates the City of God with the City of Man. America is God’s chosen nation, our perspectives are God’s perspectives, our fights are God’s fights. So in its triumphalist self-confidence, "because God is always on our side," the religious right also ends up unaccountable to God.
How can we, as people of faith, carve out a space that rejects both the secular left and it’s ideological twin, the religious right; one that recognizes our dual citizenship? How can we create a society that sees itself as morally accountable to God and His Kingdom? We can start by asking President Lincoln’s great question: Not is God on our side, but are we on God’s side?
Let me suggest three simple guiding principles to assist us in determining if our political choices are on the side of the City of God. First, how does this political choice play out for the marginalized? The Hebrew Bible reminds us over and over again to remember the widow, the orphan, and the alien. To remember the widow, the orphan, and the alien – the most dependent, the most vulnerable, the one’s living closest to the edge.
Today we would say that the most dependent, and the most vulnerable certainly include the immigrant, the uninsured, and the hungry, the unborn in the womb and their mothers, the residents in the Darfur and the victims of AIDS around the globe. When we stand before the God of history, he will not ask us about our GPA or our incomes, or what political party we supported. The God of history will ask us what we did for the least of his brethren. As Jesus said, "As you did for the least of these my brethren, you did it unto me."
So, how does this political choice play out for the marginalized? That’s the first principle in deciding if we are on God’s side.
Second, how does this political choice support global peace? The Hebrew Bible speaks of a day when we will beat our swords into plowshares. Jesus, the Messiah, is called the Prince of Peace. The first thing Jesus said following his resurrection is "Peace be with you!" The Eucharist Christians share is called in Roman Catholic tradition, the "Peace." The church is always called to be a peace movement. That is why Augustine, who originated the Just-War Tradition, said that Christians ought to be the most reluctant to go to war and when we do, we always go with tears.
As I’ve said to the church I pastor, how did it come to be that we evangelicals have become the chief advocates of war of any demographic in the country? We Christians ought to be the hardest to convince; we ought to require the highest burden of proof; we ought to demand the most evidence, before we support any military action. The church is always a peace movement.
Third, and finally, in deciding if we are on the side of God, we must always ask do we see ourselves as answerable to God. God forbid that we should project evil onto the other – onto the Arab, or the Persian, or the North Korean – still less onto the secular left or the religious right. As Solzhenitsyn said as he was lying on a rotting bed of straw in a Soviet Gulag, The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either, but right through every human heart, and through all human hearts. This line shifts. Inside us, it oscillates with the years. Even within hearts overwhelmed by evil, one small bridgehead of good is retained; and even in the best of all hearts, there remains a small corner of evil.
Only if we as individuals and as a nation retain the capacity to be self-critical, to see evil in ourselves, to see ourselves as ultimately answerable and morally accountable to the City of God and to the God of that City, can we have any hope that we, as people of faith, are on the side of God.
Let’s pray.
hippie wisdom
I pity the poor immigrant
Who wishes he would've stayed home,
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone.
That man whom with his fingers cheats
And who lies with ev'ry breath,
Who passionately hates his life
And likewise, fears his death.
I pity the poor immigrant
Whose strength is spent in vain,
Whose heaven is like Ironsides,
Whose tears are like rain,
Who eats but is not satisfied,
Who hears but does not see,
Who falls in love with wealth itself
And turns his back on me.
I pity the poor immigrant
Who tramples through the mud,
Who fills his mouth with laughing
And who builds his town with blood,
Whose visions in the final end
Must shatter like the glass.
I pity the poor immigrant
When his gladness comes to pass.
-bob dylan
Who wishes he would've stayed home,
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone.
That man whom with his fingers cheats
And who lies with ev'ry breath,
Who passionately hates his life
And likewise, fears his death.
I pity the poor immigrant
Whose strength is spent in vain,
Whose heaven is like Ironsides,
Whose tears are like rain,
Who eats but is not satisfied,
Who hears but does not see,
Who falls in love with wealth itself
And turns his back on me.
I pity the poor immigrant
Who tramples through the mud,
Who fills his mouth with laughing
And who builds his town with blood,
Whose visions in the final end
Must shatter like the glass.
I pity the poor immigrant
When his gladness comes to pass.
-bob dylan
the wedding
a couple weeks ago i went to my first outdoor wedding. a friend of mine was getting married and i got to share in the experience.
it astounds me how something like a wedding can be such a sacred moment. it wasn't the fact that the person doing the ceremony was extremely religious, or that there was a ton of prayer.
you could feel God.
as we stood there, in the beautiful weather, praying over the couple, the wind started moving.
and it moved me.
the couple just stood there, holding hands, taking in the moment.
the family stood there, rejoicing in the moment with them.
and God was there.
such a simple moment,
but such a powerful experience.
rob bell says that, "it is not that passion and love and exhilaration are in one place and Jesus is somewhere else. wherever you find those, you are finding God."
and God was definitely found.
it astounds me how something like a wedding can be such a sacred moment. it wasn't the fact that the person doing the ceremony was extremely religious, or that there was a ton of prayer.
you could feel God.
as we stood there, in the beautiful weather, praying over the couple, the wind started moving.
and it moved me.
the couple just stood there, holding hands, taking in the moment.
the family stood there, rejoicing in the moment with them.
and God was there.
such a simple moment,
but such a powerful experience.
rob bell says that, "it is not that passion and love and exhilaration are in one place and Jesus is somewhere else. wherever you find those, you are finding God."
and God was definitely found.
spiders...
so, i'm not a big fan of spiders...
actually, that just sounds like i am indifferent to them. in fact, i hate spiders.
with a passion.
but the other day, a strange thing happened.
as i was walking in the garage, i noticed a huge spider on the garage door. and i stopped and just watched it for a second. and i realized that, regardless of the monstruous size, eight large legs, and eyes upon eyes staring at me, i was fascinated by it. for that moment, i forgot that this was a creature that i hate.
before, i had wondered what in the world God was thinking when He created that creature. at that moment, i realized, He just decided to break the mold. He was just showing us just how creative He could be.
think how easy it would have been for Him to just stick with the normal six-legged insect. but instead, He thought "how about I throw 'em all for a loop, and give it 8 legs?"
and i have to admit, i'm delighted that He decided to break the mold. imagine how boring our world would be if he had decided to stick with the simple lay-out of a creature. imagine how boring people would be if we were all created in the same mold?
it's an amazing thought to have passed through my mind.
and then the moment was over and i went on fixing dinner.
and i still don't like spiders...
actually, that just sounds like i am indifferent to them. in fact, i hate spiders.
with a passion.
but the other day, a strange thing happened.
as i was walking in the garage, i noticed a huge spider on the garage door. and i stopped and just watched it for a second. and i realized that, regardless of the monstruous size, eight large legs, and eyes upon eyes staring at me, i was fascinated by it. for that moment, i forgot that this was a creature that i hate.
before, i had wondered what in the world God was thinking when He created that creature. at that moment, i realized, He just decided to break the mold. He was just showing us just how creative He could be.
think how easy it would have been for Him to just stick with the normal six-legged insect. but instead, He thought "how about I throw 'em all for a loop, and give it 8 legs?"
and i have to admit, i'm delighted that He decided to break the mold. imagine how boring our world would be if he had decided to stick with the simple lay-out of a creature. imagine how boring people would be if we were all created in the same mold?
it's an amazing thought to have passed through my mind.
and then the moment was over and i went on fixing dinner.
and i still don't like spiders...
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