the miracle of liquid water.

So I'm watching a wonderful show narrated by James Earl Jones, "In the beginning...", on KERA, the local PBS station for Dallas, Texas. It makes a very interesting observation. The interesting observation goes something like this:

Liquid water we take for granted. It is unimaginably rare in the universe. It is what sustains life on earth. Yet if the earth's core temperature were marginally warmer or cooler, liquid water would not exist. Yet people dread the rain.

It is true (the last line), and I find this to be peculiar, unusual, abnormal, and ungrateful. Why can't I walk in the pouring rain without an umbrella? The same thing goes for smelling food, or just general things for that matter. We have a nose. Why can't I smell something without being called a weirdo?

Miracles are all around us. Enjoy them.

El Capitan

The Yosemite valley is an evergreen forestation carved from countless years of wind, water, and ice. The supremely idyllic vista is breath-takingly spectacular and alone makes the trip worth it every single time.


El Capitan, a monstrous cliff formation looming over the valley, still stands bold and tall. Even today it is constantly being chiseled and shaped by the very hand of God. See it up close and in person to see a perspective with respect to the world around you, because like everything else, no picture will ever do it justice. Experience for yourself this singular mass of stone with your very eyes alone, and understand a glimpse of the awesomeness of God's overwhelming power and creative genius. You will walk away, slowly, occasionally turning around to convince your existence that it is indeed the real deal; and you will be impressed, and you will stare in dumb silence, and you will forget about time, and you will forget about yourself for once, and you will wish you had the eyes of an eagle, and you will not want to leave. And if you're anything like me, you will cry, but just a little bit.

not just words.

I was never a man of much words. Exchange a few with
me and it becomes painfully obvious, I'm not a man
gifted with an eloquent voice. And doubtful I ever be.
But not long ago, like fairly recently, a little birdy chirped and told
me that i don't have to be. He said that there are
other things to worry about, greater things, far more
significant things.

Nothing satisfies me anymore. All my childhood dreams
are gone, and so are my career dreams, they're all
gone. So what does that leave me with? Well, it's
actually quite obvious, very quite. Im not exactly
sure how or what caused this, although I have a theory
that I believe to be sound, the usual fears that held
me back are being released (present tense), and my
inhibitions are lessened by a substantial margin.

The fear of losing my job, the ever-so-common fear of
losing the career momentum to progress in the
workforce, the great imposing fear of losing the
respectability of relatives who prides in the
abundance of cash and financial credits, the conscientious
fear of literally getting too dirty, the unreasonable
fear of passing through a village and never touching
another soul, the universal fear of sensing a
tremendous loss, the childish fear of the unknown....

This list, to anyone's imagination, goes on and on.
Yet amazingly all this can be encapsulated (and I do
believe this) into one great ball of mesh, and then
explained by a single, elegant, unifying reason. This
reason explains why the huge list exists in the first
place. It explains why they can merge and stick
together so very well. And it explains why having
nothing to do with it is essentially equivalent to
being set free from a solitarily confined prison.

It goes against all of my animal instincts. Deliberately I must tell myself to let my creator take the driver's seat, and I the passenger seat. Deliberate I must be, else I be in control again. And perhaps someday, maybe, just maybe, I will wake up one morning and by His Grace and His Grace alone, I will have finally learned to simply let go and permanently hand over my keys and never worry about driving again. And with the deepest part of me I pray that that morning is here.