A
pair of leaves atop a twig twirled in the air like a toy helicopter. It was
shady, but a beam of sun spotlighted this bit of fall (in December, in Florida)
as I drove past. I marveled at the momentary spectacle, staged, apparently,
just for me. People often say when they gaze at the expanse of the night sky
that it makes them feel “small” or “insignificant,” but I react to stars and
sunsets and mountain ranges just as I
reacted to that tawny whirligig: thanking God for putting it all in place just
for me.
Think
a lot of myself, don’t I? Well, not exactly. I’m undeniably a crummy sinner,
and nobody owes me a thing, but the Creator of the universe is like a dad to
me. He’s adopted me, made me an heir and promised me the world. Now, that’s
significant. He created nations and families and individuals, including some
who left their home countries for America, and put them all in the right place
at the right time to produce me. Long before that, He decided to love me, save
me from my own flaws, and make me part of His kingdom, sensed dimly for now,
but one day to be splendidly realized on this earth.
As
a loving father, He sent His own Son to make it all sure. He was born on the
earth, the event we celebrate at Christmas. He was crucified to pay our debts
and redeem the whole world from the curse placed on it after Adam’s sin. He
rose again from the dead to prove that He is God, that death has no more power
over His people. No more power over this person. Me. That’s quite a gift. That’s
mighty significant. I owe Him a mighty long thank-you note.
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