The wind keeps swirling snow around and around outside my window. As I drive through the thick snow, barely seeing far enough ahead to stay on the road, my eye catches movement on the ground to the right. It’s a little squirrel, sitting by the road as calm as can be. He is unfazed by the biting cold, stoically chewing a little tidbit he’s scrounged up. I wonder where he’ll go after that and where he lives. I wonder what he thinks, if he thinks anything at all. I wonder if he knows that there is One far above all who sees to it that there is food for him to find.
When I come home, I let my little bird, Cora, out of her cage. She sits for a while on my arm, with her little beak tucked inside her feathers for warmth. Then she hops down and begins poking around at my rag rug, tugging at loose strings, nibbling contentedly and sharpening her beak. I wonder what she thinks or if she thinks anything at all, and I wonder if it ever occurs to her how much she is at my mercy, sheltered from the storm outside.
I wonder about twenty-one men who died. Some of them were looking up at the sky, and I wonder if they, like Stephen, could see the heavens opened and the Son of man standing at the right hand of God, waiting to receive them. I wonder what it must be like to have that last wind of God’s grace and power to make the final push and win the race. “Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them. (Rev. 14:13)”
I wonder about twenty-one murderers, so locked into a mad, distorted, perverted picture of unreality, that they so anticipated murdering twenty-one men and broadcasting it to the world. I wonder what damage they’ve done to their souls. I wonder if they feel the blackness of their hearts, or if they’ve deadened their consciences while God gives them over to more and more of what they want. I wonder if they know that God keeps their hearts beating and puts the air in their lungs and that He can snuff it all out in an instant. I wonder if God will bring them back to their rightful minds someday and how much anguish of soul they will suffer when they realize what they have done. I wonder if there is a Saul hidden among them who might become a Paul.
I wonder about those devious souls lurking in high seats of power and hidden to our eyes, pulling strings to manipulate countries and governments, create wars and fabricate peace. I wonder if they understand how powerless they really are behind their smoke machines, lightning and thunder. I wonder if they can feel Someone watching them and using their worst to carry out His perfect will. I wonder if they ever feel a thrill of fear at the prospect of standing before Him one day speechless, with no more plays and no more tricks at their disposal. I wonder if they realize that they control nothing, that they are as helpless and as pitiful and as weak as the squirrel on the road, Cora on my arm, me in my house, the murdered and the murderers.
And that is where my wondering stops.
God is on His throne.
“The Lord is in his holy temple, the Lord’s throne is in heaven;
his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men.”