為生命感恩

N.D. Wilson

多少輛車你有沒有通過的道路上?多少大燈已經被咬斷你要去向相反的方向?數以百萬計。

有多少潛在的死亡,你曾經採取的每驅動器上存在嗎?數百(甚至在短的)。

我們畫一條線(有時),並同意留在兩側正如我們在金屬噸由爆炸甩到飛向相處。
我們通過綁在渦輪機功率尖叫天上飛,並期望滑行安全地在空氣中。
我們住在熔化的岩石在外層空間飛馳而來的一球,無形之中受到約束火焰的巨大的球體。它是通過操縱誰?
多少個超級火山已經消滅我們全力以赴?無。

有多少地震已造成我們所有人?我仍然在這裡。你呢?有多少可能?

由於地球的尖叫聲在空間,平衡正是在大家活活燒死,每個人都凍結實,因為我們通過流星雨的致命障礙課程尖叫和發現它們如畫,如最近火熱的明星邊緣嘔吐噴發數百倍大,我們凌晨星球(給爽朗當地氣象北極光喋喋不休約),作為一個巨大的岩石反射周遭下滑噴濺海域(永不倒下),當我們騎在我們的機器,疾飛過去的傻瓜,醉漢和發短信的青少年,有多少時間做我們感謝上帝?

我們總是在他的手中,但我們常常覺得我們是在我們自己的。我們不能感謝他的每一次呼吸,每一個心跳,但我們可以每天都感謝他不會潑灑我們與月亮或讓我們落入了太陽。

當一個醉漢粉碎一些家庭,一些母親,有的朋友;當故事結束,那麼我們醒來。然後我們轉向上帝困惑表情,想知道他為什麼睡在船上。他把我們帶到這裡從一無所有;是他從來都不允許帶我們到出口?自己的兒子早逝;你覺得他不明白嗎?

摩西沒有看到應許之地。

參孫在廢墟中死亡失​​明。

斯蒂芬之下石頭。

保羅無頭。

彼得倒掛。

在床上或在戰場上或瀝青破碎的玻璃閃爍的燈光下,我們是神的故事結束。

多少醉鬼,他已經從你倖免?謝謝他,你問之前,從另一個倖免。

多少呼吸你畫?多少個冬日的寒風已經收緊你的皮膚?多少個聖誕節你見過?多少次在天空盤旋的榮耀在你頭上像一個祝福?

看到它。聽到他。感謝他。要求更多。搜索的時刻,你的故事,你可以很感激。

How many cars have you ever passed on the road? How many headlights have snapped by you going the opposite direction? Millions.

How many potential fatalities exist on every drive that you have ever taken? Hundreds (even on the short ones).

We paint a line (sometimes) and agree to stay on opposite sides as we hurtle along in tons of metal flung by explosions.
We fly through the sky strapped to turbines screaming with power and expect to coast down safely on the air.
We live on a ball of molten rock hurtling through outer space, invisibly leashed to a massive orb of flame. It is steered by Whom?
How many super-volcanoes have wiped us all out? None.

How many earthquakes have killed us all? I’m still here. You? How many could have?

As the earth screams through space, balanced exactly on the edge of everyone burning alive and everyone freezing solid, as we shriek through deadly obstacle courses of meteor showers and find them picturesque, as the nearest fiery star vomits eruptions hundreds of times bigger that our wee planet (giving chipper local weathermen northern lights to chatter about), as a giant reflective rock glides around us slopping the seas (and never falls down), and as we ride in our machines, darting past fools and drunks and texting teenagers, how many times do we thank God?

We are always in His hands, but we often feel like we are in our own. We can’t thank Him for every breath and every heartbeat, but we can thank Him every day for not splatting us with the moon or letting us drop into the sun.

When a drunk crushes some family, some mother, some friend; when a story ends, then we wake up. Then we turn to God with confused expressions, wanting to know why He was sleeping in the boat. He brought us here from nothing; is He ever allowed to take us to an exit? His own Son died young; do you think He doesn’t understand?

Moses didn’t see the Promised Land.

Samson died blind in the rubble.

Stephen beneath stones.

Paul without a head.

Peter upside down.

In a bed or on the battlefield or on asphalt in shattered glass beneath a flashing light, we are God’s stories to end.

How many drunks has He spared you from? Thank Him before you ask to be spared from another.

How many breaths have you drawn? How many winter winds have tightened your skin? How many Christmases have you seen? How many times has the sky swirled glory above your head like a benediction?

See it. Hear Him. Thank Him. Ask for more. Search for moments in your story for which you can be grateful.

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