Drifting off last night, it occurred to me that maybe protesting predestination is a little like protesting sleep. I mean, we're not robots, just because God made us where we have to shut down every night. We can resist it, exercise our will and put it off for a while, but if we never go to sleep we go insane and our bodies break and we end up shutting off anyway. Maybe the elect need salvation like human beings need sleep. It's irresistible, but that's not something we can complain about.
No matter how much I often like and am comforted by that particular doctrine, there remains an unsettledness about it underneath, akin to the unsettledness of realizing that one can't make their body completely whole. But underneath that unsettledness is the persistently unbudgeable reality of God.
I would just like to say that my church is, well, unusual. The morning service was not really all that different from what you might experience at other churches, except for the part when our pastor made persimmon-eating faces on purpose, but then we all went out to the Summers' house for a covered-dish lunch. Again, not all that unusual. Until it came to the paper-confetti-filled-egg hunt, where everyone smashes what they find on everyone else's heads. It was not pretty, especially after Larry decided to smash an egg-filled-egg on our pastor Travis' head, and Travis got about 10 lbs. of flour and dumped it on Larry, and then they got wet somehow, and were wrestling on the ground making pie crusts by the time most of the confetti eggs were found.
Everyone calmed down and ate and most people left, but before the day was over, one of the founding mothers of our church (Linda) had thrown a water balloon at the now-dry Travis, who promptly soaked her with the garden hose, Easter raiment notwithsanding. I...got wet too. Because a 4-year old lied to me. I'm never trusting children again.