BitterSweetLife

Sometimes it looks as if the daily junk, the monotonous trials that we batter our way through, are the common factor in life. But the meaning of our lives, let alone their ugly morasses, cannot be explained within the earthly environ.

Earth is just a brackish blip on the radar screen of God's deep wonder, the unfathomable artwork of all created being. It is nebulous to us because we're like dots in a Seurat painting--albeit very valuable, cognizant dots. Or maybe we are fiery points of light, placed against a background that disguises our identities. And this is why we cannot reckon the course of our spiraling lives, our spinning planet, we, the stars who walk alone on earthly streets.

The universe is electric with the power of God, sparking with his expectation like a high voltage wire. The world spins, a foam fleck in the sea of space, the sea of his purposes and plans, and God waits—if God can be said to wait—for earth to run its course, to fulfill her purpose, and the next journey, the greater and truer and unending journey to begin.

The God of unbearable brilliance, whose suns revolve in his palms like fireflies, God of mice and men, of creatures and cosmos—his world is not a dingy world. Knowing that our lives are in the hands of this lovely and terrible Being, how shall we falter? When he asks, Do you trust me, how should our answer, unswervingly, not be YES?