Last Exit Before Oblivion

The roof leaks, the floor is soft in places. The toilet doesn't work very well and the paint is peeling off the walls, but it's home. You've learned how to live in the place, stepping around the holes and treading lightly on the corners where the foundation is weak. It's home.

It needs to be rebuilt, starting with the foundation that's sliding downhill. It is, however, the only home you have. The traditional approach is to call the bulldozer crew. Level the place and start over.

This is a human life we're talking about, though. Threadbare, yes, not working very well, but all that's available. So, God has to somehow glue everything together and then start rebuilding. It's quite a remarkable process, especially for one who sees any attempts at manipulation as an attack to be resisted with all his energy.

Churches and books are so sanguine about life-changing. All you need to do is... and there follows a list of simple steps. If change were that easy the world wouldn't be the very messy and non-functional place it is right now. The process is actually fraught with risk, pain, problems, setbacks, back-and-forthing, ups and downs and ins and outs.

Change is a threat. I grew up needing to defend myself against all comers. They weren't interested in me, but in getting me to do things. If I didn't look out I'd end up just like them.

Well, I've ended up like them anyway. God offers freedom, I see his work as a threat, and automatically go into self-defense mode.

What's really interesting is that he doesn't step up the power. He just waits. Any lesser god would call for the bulldozer crew. Break. Bash. Tear it down. Revolution. Blow it up. God is unique. It's no threat to him that I don't obey. He knows what's best, and he waits. His glue slowly infiltrates, and where he's permitted he works to change the damaged parts so that they work better.