Innumerable Grains of Sand

"My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian," begins Mark Twain's 1903 short story "A Dog's Tale." The story is a heart-wrenching commentary on the ills of short-sighted people who mistreat others, told through the voice of a sweet, trusting dog who has an affinity for the word "Presbyterian": "This is what my mother told me, I do not know these nice distinctions myself. To me they are only fine large words meaning nothing. My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them, and see other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she got so much education."

And later in the story, we hear this: " ... for there were some most pleasant [neighbor dogs] not far away, and one very handsome and courteous and graceful one, a curly-haired Irish setter by the name of Robin Adair, who was a Presbyterian like me, and belonged to the Scotch minister."

Mark Twain's wise humor resonates through much of his work, and here we get his mild ribbing of those scholarly Presbyterians who use big words that sound impressive but ultimately mean little. (At least Robin Adair was "handsome and courteous," right?)

As we live through this reality-shifting moment in history, do you hear God pressing us to the truth of who we are? Fancy words are akin to perfectly staged selfies or carefully polished stories that offer to the world a prettier picture than what is true to this moment. But how do those fancy words and staged selfies impact the world? Do they comfort the lonely and lift up the hurting, or do they widen the chasm that we already feel in our need to physically distance from one another?

God does not want our false self -- as minor as the polishing may be -- nor does the world. God desires our true self, beneath the fancy words and impressive posturing. He created each of us intentionally and perfectly, so why do we mask His creation with insincere decorations? Consider Psalm 139:

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you

when I was made in the secret place,

when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me were written in your book

before one of them came to be.

How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!

How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,

they would outnumber the grains of sand—

when I awake, I am still with you.

Rather than spinning in our own concerns, words, and images, what if we follow David's plea and set our sights on God's thoughts this week? How might our outlook on the pandemic, politics, and conflict around us shift if we continually seek God's wisdom as if pondering innumerable grains of sand? How do we ensure that we are walking in the confidence of our own creation, and the strength of God's fortitude and steadfast surety?

May you seek the Lord this week, confident that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Jennie