Confession: This past Sunday morning I was trying to impress my Sunday school kids with how smart God is.
He knows how many hairs are on your head, I said, even counting the ones that fell out while you were brushing them this morning.
He knows how many leaves are on that tree.
He knows what’s going to happen next.
He knows what you’re thinking inside your mind, whether or not you’re listening to me. (I can’t tell.)
There is no question you could ask him that he wouldn’t know the answer to.
You could say, Think of the Meadville Public Library, upstairs, tenth book on the top shelf, page sixteen, what’s the fourth word on the page? And he would know just like that.
I could tell they were listening then; their mouths opened.
I didn’t really expect that to say that. I guess it’s true. Is it true?
Okay, but ever since then I can’t stop thinking about those books. At home, I went to my nearest bookshelf, pulled the tenth book from the top shelf, opened to page sixteen, looked for the fourth word. It was –
But I am getting ahead of myself.
I thought it would be fun if you told me what yours is. Maybe it’s a secret code. Maybe together we would spell out something of great beauty. It would be fun to try.
At the very least, if we said what book it came from, we could compile a delightfully random to-read list.