Last night I sat with my feet in a pool next to a friend that always smells good and talked about Jesus, amongst other things.

We put our feet on the water’s surface and tried to decide what it would have been like to see him walking towards the boat that day.

Then we talked about being astronauts and going to the moon and how small we are.

I got scared by a bug and wanted to make him squish it with his shoe but then I thought about how small it is and decided against it.

And in that moment I felt like I understood the world just a little more.

Because some days I am a bug.

And some days I am an astronaut.

I’m perpetually living in the swing of a pendulum between seeing my life in light of the enormous sovereignty of the Lord’s will and thinking I’m bigger and above the world itself.

I keep finding myself swimming in nostalgia and regret and fear as graduation looms and as what I’m sure is a wholly inaccurate screenshot of my future gets increasingly larger in view.  I analyze the choices I’ve made, the people I’ve known, the places I’ve been – always fighting this idea that somewhere along the way I really screwed things up.  Like my whole life I was supposed to be yellow and do yellow things and meet yellow people but I’ve been running around like a rabid dog throwing green everywhere.  And now I’m this giant orange mess that people and God and myself just don’t know what to do with anymore.

But in reality, I’m a bug.  A teeny tiny bug that’s covered in more grace and mercy than it’ll ever know.  A bug that always has been and always will be loved and provided for by the maker of all bugs.  And that has no more power to deter the will of the maker with bug-like mistakes than to dive to the bottom of that pool or to jump to the moon and swirl amongst the astronauts.

A little bug with a little life in a big world with a big God.

And I’m not all that mad about that.  A bug’s life aint bad.

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