During the past few weeks, I have spent a considerable amount of time as part of a team tasked with writing a story to be presented at church. This was part of an extensive effort to determine the strategic spiritual direction of the church (at the local church level).
I worked as hard as I could to make it the best it could be. I viewed this as the most important piece of writing that I have ever done. By the end of the process, I was exhausted. I had used every bit of my energy in helping to develop a twenty to thirty minute presentation. Call it an even thirty minutes, and that is one-half of an hour. In the grand scheme of things, that’s only 1/48th of one day (at least here on Earth, where our days are twenty-four hours). On other planets, your mileage may vary.
My efforts were far from perfect. Consider what the effort level would be to make it absolutely perfect. I can’t conceive that, really. I’m not even sure what perfect really means. For the sake of argument, let’s give that effort a value. Call it P (for Perfect).
Forty-eight of those Ps would be a perfect day; take that new value (48P) and multiply it by 365 days (ignoring leap year) to get 17520P.
(During all this, I’m ignoring the added complexity of ORDER … that is, perhaps it would be more perfect to rearrange the days in a different order … or rearrange the hours in a given day … )
So 17520P is the perfect year for one person. What’s the rating for one person’s perfect year, or perfect lifetime? What’s the rating for EVERYBODY’S perfect lifetimes in total?
The World Health Organization reports that from 2010 – 2013, the average lifespan worldwide is 71.0 years (both genders combined). So for a perfect life, on average, we have 71 times 17520P, or 1,243,920P.
That is per person. Another way to think about this is like this: the average person, worldwide, has over one million two hundred thousand half-hour time slots in his life.
The United States Population Fund reports that on Oct 31, 2011, the global population reached 7 billion. The Population Reference Bureau estimates that 107 billion people have ever lived.
Of course, the average age has varied considerably during the history of mankind. We’ll deal with that later. For now, let’s go with our 71 years.
For 107 billion people with an average age of 71 years, there is a total of 133099440000000000, or 1.3309944E17. For you who care (I do), that’s over 133 quadrillion half-hour time slots. That means 133 quadrillion P are needed to have them all be perfect.
Troubled that I used 71 years as the average age? Fine. Let’s be liberal and say that the average person only lived 35 years. Let’s cut the estimate IN HALF. That’s still over 66 quadrillion P.
The Bible tells us (in Psalms) that God already fore-ordained all our days. God’s grand universal plan is perfect.
Now, consider this. The Bible also tells us in Romans that: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” (ESV)
At this point, I don’t know how to add in the true complexity, because not all of our lives have interacted with every other life that ever lived. But it’s clear that some interaction does go on, things do occur, and lives are impacted by each other. Somehow, God takes those quadrillions of Ps and has them work together to come out according to his plan.
How does that work? I have no idea.
We live in a world of free will. We are not God’s marionettes. I can choose to do within my time slot whatever it is I want to do. The contents of the time slots are up to me. But no matter what I choose, God’s plan will come to fruition, and in the end He will be glorified.
One option is to believe that God set up the world (a clockworks model), wound it up, and is sitting in the parlor watching the cuckoos pass by. That, however, flies in the face of Scripture, from which we learn that: God has a tender heart for the poor, the broken-hearted, widows, orphans, and the sick; God notes when a sparrow falls; God knows how many hairs are on your head; and, most of all, God loves you so much that HE came down and died in your place.
If that’s not enough, consider this: Depending on the source, the estimates for the number of stars in the sky (our galaxy plus all the other (estimated) galaxies) are between 1 sextillion (1E21) and 100 octillion (100E27) stars. That is, somewhere between 1 with 21 zeroes behind it and 1 with 29 zeroes behind it.
Then, consider the following. Isaiah 40:26 tells us: “Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one and calls forth each of them by name.” Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing.
The Nebraska / Minnesota game Thursday night was a nail-biter and went down to the last play. Huskers lost, 13-10. The Golden Gophers played a tough game and it took NU a while to get the running game going, but by the end of the 3rd quarter we were moving the ball, but near the end of the fourth quarter we fumbled, got the ball back, and threw an INT in the end zone. Minnesota marched downfield and kicked the FG for the win. Husker Jeff Sims looked good at QB, and his scrambling was a great asset for the Huskers. He threw three interceptions, but he also threw bullets into tight spots. NU’s 3-3-5 defense pretty much squashed Minnesota’s running game until near the very end, when one long run set them up in field goal position. The three on Nebraska’s defensive line kept Minnesota’s offensive line busy. The Huskers pass defense allowed several short completions early, but then they buckled down and I think Minnesota only got 2 or 3 receptions longer than 20 yards and nothing long. It was a clean game with very few penalties. And the Minnesota fans seemed nicer (on tv, anyway) than I remember them being. 🙂 Me? I’ll be at a couple Huskers games later in the fall. Looking forward to it. Go Big Red!
Aunt Ruth, America’s favorite grammarian, has officially come out of her period of silence.
“I am not going to pursue joining the Big Ten football conference. I repeat,” she stated over the already stressed sound system, “the Big Ten will remain (Aunt) Ruthless for the 2024 season. I do realize,” she continued, “that the Big Ten remains in the awkward predicament of presiding over seventy-three ( 73) teams, the prime number thus making fair scheduling a nightmare. Not to worry, though. I have come up with a solution — just a simple twist of ARSE encryption algorithms using wedding ring and cow-field theory, and, (of course), a cello to provide some string theory.”
Instead of clearing the air, Miss Aunt Ruth’s statements only obfuscated things and made life smellier, akin to pouring a bottle of Chanel No. 5 on a sweaty pig. “That’s really gross,” she opined. “While we’re at it, I need to emphasize, emphatically and with extreme emphasis, I am not building a barbecue joint in Memphis.” The crowd murmured.
“Finally, just to clear the air, I have NOT signed up with the transfer portal to quarterback at Nebraska, North Carolina, or Notre Dame, but I’ve nailed a permanent gig with Gladys’s Gastroenterology. Thank you.”
This story occurred in western Nebraska in 1878. That was an adventurous time to be living. Lakota Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and other Indian tribes sometimes encountered white pioneer settlers. Those encounters didn’t always end on a positive note, but sometimes they did, and friendships could grow.
Saving Arapahoe is an action-filled page-turner that will keep you in the chair until you’ve finished.
So, as it were, I found myself wandering the streets of this magnificent northwest city. Why? I was tired but no sleep would come to me. I had been writing a book and I came to a place where the two main threads collided with each other … and exploded to bits. You know, when the train that crossed the country (what’s that called … I’m drawing a blank … oh it’s the Trans-Continental Railway (or approximately that — I asked my cell phone).
Anyway, the insomnia (I couldn’t remember that word either, so I asked my wife and she told me) drove me out of the bedroom and onto the sidewalks so I could burn off some energy and clear my thoughts. Now, midnight in this Pacific northwest population-magnet is not a quiet time. In fact, there is no quiet time in this haven of fish markets and roasted coffee beans.
I heard noises of trucks and cars and construction equipment; sirens and whistles and car horns; marching band horns and drums and crowds yelling and people shouting, cheering, laughing, or jeering; My ears caught the cockle-doodle-doo of the good-morning rooster and the cluck, cluck, cluck of the truthful hens (i.e, they were not lying, they were laying)I heard the cry of a hawk, the bark of a blue heron, and the shrill, familiar screech of the Nebraska Sandhills Crane. I heard dogs and cats, pigs and bats, sheep, goats; I heard horses and donkeys and cows mooing or lowing or whatever they do. As they say, the ox and the ass were noisy too.
Then, like being struck by ten Yamaha tubas and a Steinway piano falling from the sky, it hit me. I heard absolutely no baby chicks. No, not a one.
Gennesaret Press announced Monday the upcoming release of Saving Arapahoe, the third book in the Johnny Stevens Pioneer Adventures series. The setting is western Nebraska in 1878. This 1st-person story is based on letters and stories from the author’s great-grand- father when he was a 12-year-old boy. The Indians and pioneers didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and that led to some harrowing experiences! Even so, great friendships are formed and alliances made. This is a great book for families to read together. Take a look. The book lists at $17.95 and should become available on Aug 15, 2023.
Teach me your ways, O LORD, that I may live according to your truth! Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honor you. With all my heart I will praise you, O LORD my God. I will give glory to your name forever, For your love for me is very great. You have rescued me from the depths of death. (from NLT)
Ahem! Become celebratory dictators. Enjoy frozen glasses having individual jam kerosene lemondade melting nicely on phony quicksand, raising stylish turmoil under very woeful xylophones yawning zealously.
