God's Big Skimmer

This week I saw a centipede casually sitting on the bottom step in the shallow end of my pool. I thought to myself, I'll get the critter tomorrow, as I walked on by. Just thinking about him makes my lip curl in disgust, and wouldn't you know it, when I skimmed him out of what has been a watery grave for many adorable furries, this multi-legged-mini-monster starter twisting and turning his ugly head, perhaps to get the water out of his ears - do centipedes have ears?

Only two weeks ago I cried after seeing a baby bunny float lifelessly, stretched out as though he had taken a great leap. This morning I watched a baby bunny nibble one of my plants, hop through the gardens that line my fences, and I prayed and prayed that God preserve him so that he grows into a big rabbit, big enough to annoy me for eating things I am trying to nurture and grow. 

The centipede deserved to die in my eyes, compared to what I consider timid and gentle animals, like bunnies. Think me sentimental, accuse me of being silly, but I really like furries, and consider them a blessing from God. Anyone that has had a pet live in their home, knows how sweet they can be, how loyal, loving, and comforting too... try to snuggle up close with a centipede: they are venomous, and their sting can numb the bite site for up to an hour, from what I read. What did I do with the soaked centipede, you ask? I dumped him in my garden, alive. I have killed those many-legged creepers in my home before, because the thought of letting one get away - they are fast - and showing up close to where I sleep, is repugnant. But could I in good conscience kill something that was nearly drowned, after an extended amount of time submerged in pool water? 

I have what is called, sympathy, for the living, and for those that are suffering too. Imagine being one of those people that are lost at sea, clinging to something to keep them afloat, going through the stages of fear, desperation, helplessness, followed closely by hopelessness, in ever being rescued. I do not suppose the centipede had any of these sentiments, but when he could breath air again, he sucked it back with a mighty thirst.

I see the sick, those that many suspect are dying, and alas, God has a massive skimmer, and he regularly scoops souls from watery depths, from fiery furnaces, from fraudulent-fabricated-foibles, meant to manipulate and mutilate humans that are gullible enough to be prey. The centipede stings, the bunny nibbles, both have to eat. There are some humans that are not satisfied with the food God provides, rather, they prefer feasting on death; on souls: their food is hatred and they cannot get enough, forever hungry for more victims. 

The bunny just hopped near my window, looking in as I spoke, Hi bunny... a part of me wants to keep perpetual watch so that his hopping nibbling days are long, and I will enjoy his cuteness, and not have to grieve another death. That is my hopping hope, to not grieve the deaths of sweet humans that somehow, someway, went where they ought not to have; floundered in their faith; and struggle with ingesting what does not belong in the body. Please Lord, please, I beg, preserve them.

God loves his creation, his creatures. He chooses the when of life, death, and everything in-between. I know I cannot save the bunny if he happens to try to tread water when I cannot protect him from himself. I know that I cannot stop anyone from doing as they please, even if I warn them of danger. I know ...

I know that God's mercies are new everyday, and whether humans act like stinging predatory centipedes, or sweet little cuddly bunnies, I know he holds all life tenderly in his loving hands, and I can only count on him to do justly for one and all. 

It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness (Lamentations 3:22-23)