Earthworms like to die on the parking lots of funeral home and churches.

I rescued an earthworm today.  It's been raining in that soaking sort of way and the worms came out searching for some solace after their homes have been flooded.  Most of them die exposed, like little pink noodles scatter across the walkways.  That's why I was surprised to see one inching it's way towards the grass.  So surprised, in fact, that I was moved by compassion to lift it's limp form and place it among a few verdant blades.  Sarah is the one who is compassionate in our family, not me.  She is the one who cares for our cat even though he strives to find secret places to defecate and urinate around the house.  She is the one who cries at baptisms and funerals of people she never even knew.  I, on the other hand, feel like kicking our cat and for some unbeknownst reason feel like laughing while other people are grieving.  I understand...I'm a horrid person...but I rescued an earthworm today.

For I am Persuaded...

...In Romans Paul talks about how nothing can separate him from God's love.  Nothing.  And I don't think it's just that he was wishy washy, "well, I'm pretty sure that nothing can separate me from God's love, that is if He doesn't have one of His bad temper Sodom and Gomorrah days and I just happen to be the one who screwed the straw on the camel's back" type of belief.  Paul says he's persuaded.  He was convinced by God.  I don't think Paul was sitting around one day and poof, he came up with this brainstorm.  "What if I can't be separated from God's love!  This would be great!  Why didn't I think of this before!"  God somehow persuaded Paul that there is nothing at all that can take him away from the love of God.

That being said, how persuaded am I?  Whenever I do something I fear reprisal, or I turn and try to defend myself to God as if to say, "What now God?  Can you love me in spite of this.  I dare you to."  He can.  I think I take it as a right and not a gift.  I am one of His adopted sons, and therefore I deserve His love.  He said He'd give it, He can't take it away.  It goes along with the consistent pride I pin on my sleeve like a sergeant's stripes.  It should humble me.   I should understand that I don't warrant anything but hell, and the worst bits of it.  There's a song that says "Your kindness Lord, leads us to repentance."  When does it?  Am I so full of myself that I believe that I deserve God's notice in the first place, let alone His grace?  I wish it weren't so.

Blogging is for losers...and the socially inept.

Which is why I have decided to start one myself.  I've always dreamt that the Leviathan is a hideously frightening creature, much like the blog project you see me beginning here.  Chances are, like most things in my life, I'll grow sufficiently apathetic and let the beast die a natural, if abrupt, death and relieve you all (i'm full of myself enough to assume someone will read this tripe) of any obligation you feel to read this.  These things in mind, it's raining outside.  This could be indicative of change if we look to modern art, film and literature. 

Or it could be the calling card of mild depression if we look at it from a Central New York psychological point of view.  Many people decide to treat this by transforming their skin into the same color and consistency of a rotisserie chicken.  Crispy and brown, and just a little bit flaky.

Leviathan Arise, pretentious to the last.  It's still raining.  I bet Noah hated rain.