I rolled out of bed this morning to a sky that was already blue and grass that was already green.
I didn’t make the sun rise and I have no power to make it set.
Thousands of souls took their first breath today, and thousands more took their last, all without my help.
The world keeps on keeping on.
God is amazing. The universe is larger—and smaller—than we can fathom. Nothing is so big it overwhelms Him, and nothing is so small it escapes His intimate attention. No bit of nature, no aspect of our lives goes unnoticed.
He could run it perfectly, but He chooses to partner with humans, who wear their flaws on their sleeves and whose bent toward deception is dreadfully contagious.
I am keenly aware that I bring nothing to the table. My hands are empty. I have no original ideas, and I make messes out of His good stuff.
If they play kickball in heaven, I’m right on track to get chosen last when they pick teams.
And this is where my mind goes completely on tilt: I am credited with brilliance and power. I am credited for loading the table with good things.
I am captain of the kickball team.
This is what happens when Jesus says “that one’s with Me.”