We Are Insects

(September 4, 2019)

We are insects, small creatures that live and move and walk on this blue and green dust ball.

We pick our battles, collect our food, bring our portions forward. We shake our fists towards the heavens, start fights we can’t finish, “for ourselves, for humanity... for ourselves.”

We have little legs, little mouths, little heads, bodies, little emotions, little thoughts—at least when you’re at a bird's eye view, or how about a satellite view. One wonders how big we must look from the sun’s view, or another galaxy.

We are insects, tiny creatures that live and move and walk on this blue and green dust ball.

He sees.

There is one who watches these creatures in their everyday living. Yet they pretend to be quite busy and unaware of Him. Their paper piling, food collecting, world-changing, as well as fighting and yelling, are a little too great at the present moment to notice Him.

He sees.

But He is kind.

He is kind to not retrieve His very breath back to Himself, sucking it from our frail lungs.

He is patient to not untwine or crush our feeble legs that run so rapidly away from Him.

He is gracious to hear our pathetic mouths curse Him hourly, yet restrain from filling them with clay and closing them shut.

How His ears must burn, and His eyes become filled with fire as He stares at the small beings who ignore Him daily and claim to be the masters of their own lives.

“I created myself”... “I can find my path in the dark with my all-seeing eyes, unmuddled feelings, and infinite knowledge.”

For truly, who would need such a God if this were true? What freedom, what blissful self-actualization and independent triumph.

But if such a claim were wrong, or even the slightest bit off, what a tragic disaster might these little creatures find themselves running towards. They beg Him for their ruin. They beg Him to be damned. Anything, oh anything, but to trust and submit themselves to such a cruel creator who gave them the very legs they use to run from Him with. Anything, oh anything, but to thank the One who gifted them the mouths they use to curse Him with. Anything, oh anything, but to acknowledge the one who granted them the very eyes they refuse to look at Him with.

Anything, oh anything, but to love the One who originated such a beautiful thing as love and demonstrated it so nobly by coming in such little form and dying for a creation that would not—no matter the gift or the warning—recognize Him to be their God.

Hope Is Greater Than Fear

(July 28, 2020)

I must remember that hope is greater than fear. For every one that desires the harm of another, there is also one who desires their protection. For every one that believes the first word on the street, there is also a critical thinker challenging it behind closed doors. For every one who schemes to take advantage of the lowly, there is one who wishes to support them in their growth and rise to glory. For every one who spreads lies for their own gain, there is also one who will seek truth even at their own loss.  And with each yelling match witnessed in media, there are also constructive conversations happening between loved ones in homes.

I do not trust the hearts of man, and yet, I trust the hearts of man. 

With every group of sheep that starts being swept away, hope still remains; sheep can think for themselves, and there are some who hear a voice of challenge and questioning. For there is always a discussion happening in the unseen, an inner dialogue within the minds of every man, between himself and himself—heart and mind. And God is also found there, and He, a part of the conversation.

The race of man is never entirely lost. Hope is greater than fear. 

But hope stays alive in our hearts only as long as we choose to have it.

Chess Pieces

(July 16, 2020)

Are we just chess pieces to the Heavenly Beings?

A game between God and Satan over who will win? And who will get the most glory? 

I am a pawn, and you, the bishop. I run into you, we speak, you say something quite profound, but expected, which makes me switch directions or jump to another square, and you likewise. 

Is life made up of different pointless encounters? Encounters that only matter in relation to the Almighty in order to bring about his victory, but in relation to us, mean and matter very little?

Has my value been forgotten, or did it ever actually exist outside of someone else’s victorious purposes? Am I valued because I was created to move from this square to that, in order to help bring the match to a fine conclusion? But once used or destroyed, taken off the board and placed back in the box to either never be played again or to be used for another's purposes?

And do I look any different from that of the other pawns? Or am I just one in the number of cheap wood pieces that sit and move within the confines and rules of the game? I am made of dust, after all.  

I wonder, above all, if I am cared for. Or if I am loved. 

I resolved to make my conclusions until a response from outside invaded my dialogue. It pierced through each and every question, straight and clear. It prevailed over all other thoughts, as a sword slaying all in its way.

“A Chess player does not die for his chess pieces.”

And there was the answer to my questions. This thought was not of me. It was an answer from the Almighty.

The Third Time

(March 7, 2018)

It was the third time I answered, the same as before 

Why must I repeat it twice and once more?

It may not be true, but it must be said 

Otherwise, I too would be covered in red

For if I spoke right and told the truth

There would be more than just one, there would be two

But at the third time, the clock struck, and the bird sounded

My eyes widened, my heart pounded

I shifted my vision to look away from my lies

Grabbing at anything that would help me survive 

But I knew exactly what He knew

And I did exactly what He said I would do

So like a baby, my eyes stumbled to His

(The very God-man Judas had deceitfully kissed)

And just as an archer, I would not miss

And so they wobbled to the only One who could comfort 

The very same One I betrayed; the very One I hurt

And in that moment when our eyes touched, I lost my vision though I was not trying

For my eyes were filled with liquid, and I found that I was crying