On Shattered Illusions

Hot things and cold things don't always mix well.

That's one of those laws of physics (pardon my paraphrase) that doesn't really affect you a whole lot until it affects you a whole lot.

Yesterday, in our new kitchen in our new apartment, we (by accident) left a blue casserole dish sitting on a hot stove top for a couple of minutes. When I saw smoke begin to rise, I sprung into action. I gingerly moved the hot dish off of the hot stove and onto the cold counter.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

No gunpowder. No plastic explosives. Just simple physics.

The aftermath a thousand pieces later? I was standing about two feet away, but by the grace of God, I only got a few tiny scratches. Ella (who was about three feet behind me on the floor) and Katrina were scratch free. That is actually quite incredible, because there were pieces of hot glass that melted into my sweatshirt. And into the linoleum floor. And the dining room carpet. There was even a small piece that was impaled in the drywall.

So much noise.

No match for the power of God.

The Son of God was piereced for our transgressions, and crushed for our inquities.

It was God who brought the noise. So much noise. So much that He was able to drown out all the noise of all the sin and all the evil and all the murder and all the suffering.

The punishment that brought us peace was upon Him and by His wounds we are healed.

I was unscathed. Katrina was unscathed. Ella was unscathed. But He wasn't.

Peace.