Bisy. Backson.

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Confession: When people tell me that the universe is infinite, I don’t know what to say.

So I hold my tongue.

But it never seemed realistic to me than anything created could be spatially infinite. There are “ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands” of angels, for instance, but there is a number of them. If you counted them, you’d get to the end—as with the trees of the world, and the hairs on our heads, and the grains of sand. Why should the stars be different?

If you showed me a pit in a cavern and told me it was bottomless, I wouldn’t believe you. There’s always something at the end. Why should the sky be different?

I confess I sometimes wonder if we’re operating on a cataclysmically skewed calculation of distance. How can the light of stars a skegillion light years away have reached us here, already?

I wonder about these things.

Right now my task list is so nearly infinite that I haven’t had time to think, time to breathe, time to write…* but there’s an end to that too. And in between I’m listening to music that makes me cry and a youth pastor that makes me howl. Most days I am having a lot of fun. I want to tell you how much I love my sis-in-laws and about the Low Country Boil we did and the enormous pile of shrimp peels that ended up beside my plate… I want to tell you about the kids at VBS and their brown trusting eyes and funny sayings… I want to write about green beans and good deeds and fresh herbs, an (almost) infinite number of things—but I don’t have time.

It comforts me to think that if God did not create material infinity, I can’t either, and so this too shall pass.

* The three signs of life