It's really strange to me to think about the fact that God not only created me but also sustains me. I guess it's weird that I get so hung up on this fact, but the fact that He sustains me even in the midst of my sin and defiance totally blows my mind. It's not like I'm a watch that He wound up and then let go to do whatever I want; no, He continues to fill me with His breath, keeping me alive every moment of every day. This means that, even as I act in a way that is basically a "screw you" to His holiness, He continues to give me the very energy I use to sin against Him.
The Bible says that God causes the rain to fall on both the righteous and the unrighteous, but that's merely a single example of the many common graces He gives to us all. How kind and faithful He is to me, to allow me to live and breathe and walk and talk and laugh and cry in this world! One moment I use my words to praise Him, and He listens with pleasure, knowing even as He does that moments later I will use my words to curse His creation. And every time I speak, it is His breath that I am exhaling, His life that is providing the impetus for those words.
Have you ever thought about the idea of energy? Where do we get our energy from? Yes, I know about the digestive system, about this amazing body I have that converts food and oxygen into stuff it can actually use. But I am not a machine. I am not a series of chemical reactions that results in the motions I intend to make. I have a will, desires that drive me in a hundred different conflicting directions, emotions that threaten to tear me into a hundred pieces countless times each day, hopes and dreams and interests that--partially, at least--make me who I am. Where did those come from? I write these words not because a particular synapse fired in my brain, not because the chicken I ate at dinner provides my fingers with energy, not because nerves carried electrical impulses to tendons that manipulated joints. I write these words because I desire to, because I feel that I have something that I ought to say, to communicate to anyone who might happen to stumble upon my silly scribblings.
This desire, this feeling of ought-ness, this desire to communicate ideas transcends any one particular culture or people group. It is something all human beings have in common, from the articulate President of the United States, to the boy from Malaysia with a cleft palate, to the deaf women gesturing at a fast food counter. Some ideas are mundane, silly even. Others are vast; they carry the weight of a million souls with them and transform the world forever.
N. D. Wilson wrote a book that I am reading: Notes from the Tilt-a-whirl. In this book, he talks about how our world is spoken by God, how we are all parts of a story He is telling, a song He is singing. In light of this, I cannot say that the idea of a spoken world is my own idea; rather, it is an idea that he planted in my mind. But if what he says is true, and God continues to maintain us through speaking, would it not make sense for us, the words, to desire to communicate? That is, after all, what words are designed to do. If this life is a novel, then the things that I say, that I do, that I contemplate are all motifs and themes woven into the body of the book that is the extent of my earthly existence.
Which means that, in a roundabout way, these come from God. Not to say that all our thoughts are godly or righteous: rather, it is simply to say that He breathes life into us, He crafts our minds, He knows our thoughts, and He Himself designs every thread of the tapestry. There is no other weaver, only the One who holds all threads in His hands. So when I look lustfully at a woman, it is another thread God is weaving into the tapestry: an ugly one that, to me, appears to mar the beauty of my segment of this magnum opus that He is crafting. But from God's perspective, this thread and others like it--envy, insecurity, self-harm--will only add to the final beauty of this piece. The story goes by many names, but I think the best one is "Glory be to God." Or perhaps "Praise the LORD." (If you prefer the Hebrew, that's "Hallelu Yah.")
You see, we breathe and eat and poop and sing and swear only because God has designed the breathing and eating and pooping and singing and swearing that fills our days. And the part we can't see is that it's all about His glory, His praise. That's why, when kings conspire with one another, when they rise up and band together against my God, He laughs at them. He knows that all their conspiring, all their defiance comes to naught. They breathe the air He gives them, speak the lines He writes for them, make the plans He designs for them. And ultimately, through their downfall and His victory over them, they bring Him the glory He desires for Himself.
Every disgusting thread Yahweh God uses only adds to the wonder we the audience will feel when we see the extraordinary, unbelievable beauty of the finished product.
The Bible says that God causes the rain to fall on both the righteous and the unrighteous, but that's merely a single example of the many common graces He gives to us all. How kind and faithful He is to me, to allow me to live and breathe and walk and talk and laugh and cry in this world! One moment I use my words to praise Him, and He listens with pleasure, knowing even as He does that moments later I will use my words to curse His creation. And every time I speak, it is His breath that I am exhaling, His life that is providing the impetus for those words.
Have you ever thought about the idea of energy? Where do we get our energy from? Yes, I know about the digestive system, about this amazing body I have that converts food and oxygen into stuff it can actually use. But I am not a machine. I am not a series of chemical reactions that results in the motions I intend to make. I have a will, desires that drive me in a hundred different conflicting directions, emotions that threaten to tear me into a hundred pieces countless times each day, hopes and dreams and interests that--partially, at least--make me who I am. Where did those come from? I write these words not because a particular synapse fired in my brain, not because the chicken I ate at dinner provides my fingers with energy, not because nerves carried electrical impulses to tendons that manipulated joints. I write these words because I desire to, because I feel that I have something that I ought to say, to communicate to anyone who might happen to stumble upon my silly scribblings.
This desire, this feeling of ought-ness, this desire to communicate ideas transcends any one particular culture or people group. It is something all human beings have in common, from the articulate President of the United States, to the boy from Malaysia with a cleft palate, to the deaf women gesturing at a fast food counter. Some ideas are mundane, silly even. Others are vast; they carry the weight of a million souls with them and transform the world forever.
N. D. Wilson wrote a book that I am reading: Notes from the Tilt-a-whirl. In this book, he talks about how our world is spoken by God, how we are all parts of a story He is telling, a song He is singing. In light of this, I cannot say that the idea of a spoken world is my own idea; rather, it is an idea that he planted in my mind. But if what he says is true, and God continues to maintain us through speaking, would it not make sense for us, the words, to desire to communicate? That is, after all, what words are designed to do. If this life is a novel, then the things that I say, that I do, that I contemplate are all motifs and themes woven into the body of the book that is the extent of my earthly existence.
Which means that, in a roundabout way, these come from God. Not to say that all our thoughts are godly or righteous: rather, it is simply to say that He breathes life into us, He crafts our minds, He knows our thoughts, and He Himself designs every thread of the tapestry. There is no other weaver, only the One who holds all threads in His hands. So when I look lustfully at a woman, it is another thread God is weaving into the tapestry: an ugly one that, to me, appears to mar the beauty of my segment of this magnum opus that He is crafting. But from God's perspective, this thread and others like it--envy, insecurity, self-harm--will only add to the final beauty of this piece. The story goes by many names, but I think the best one is "Glory be to God." Or perhaps "Praise the LORD." (If you prefer the Hebrew, that's "Hallelu Yah.")
You see, we breathe and eat and poop and sing and swear only because God has designed the breathing and eating and pooping and singing and swearing that fills our days. And the part we can't see is that it's all about His glory, His praise. That's why, when kings conspire with one another, when they rise up and band together against my God, He laughs at them. He knows that all their conspiring, all their defiance comes to naught. They breathe the air He gives them, speak the lines He writes for them, make the plans He designs for them. And ultimately, through their downfall and His victory over them, they bring Him the glory He desires for Himself.
Every disgusting thread Yahweh God uses only adds to the wonder we the audience will feel when we see the extraordinary, unbelievable beauty of the finished product.
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