My Life Really Matter To God?
Some mornings, the world seems a paradise. You wake up, take a deep breath by the window, and look out on golden sunshine spreading color on the trees, leaf by leaf. Some moments make life seem so precious: the face of a beloved friend as you say good-bye, a sublime piece of music that perfectly matches your mood, the unexpected affection of a small child.
But other mornings, the world seems a place of horror. You wake up to newspaper headlines screaming about yet another terrorist bombing thats maimed or blinded some child, yet another serial killer claiming his tenth victim, yet another famine or war or earthquake. There are moments when nothing makes sense, nothing seems fair. You hear about young missionaries speared to death by the tribesmen they have come to help and at the same time learn of Mafia bosses enjoying their grand-children at their lavish estates.
What does it all mean? Can we make sense of our wonderful and terrible world? Does God have a purpose for it? Why are we here? Does my life really matter to God or am I just a minor cog in some vast cosmic machine?