What must the ocean think when a grain of sand tries to control the tide? How must the waves laugh to see the start of a castle? When I’m trying to change the course of things to suit myself, I am that grain of sand.

Here I am, but an instrument, trying to conduct the orchestra. Why, I wonder, do things sound out-of-tune? Why, I ask, is everyone in the wrong place? How, I moan, will all this disorder be put right?

I’m always trying to be in control, even though I know that without God driving, my car can’t handle the off-roading that lies ahead. Without God in that driver’s seat, I miss all the good scenery and all the peaceful parts of the trip. What must the professional driver think when the cocky amateur takes the racecar around a dangerous curve? It’s no wonder I crash and burn with my lack of knowledge about the racetrack.

The ocean sighs.

The conductor steps up.

The clean-up crew arrives to make the best of the wreck.

Just when I think I’m in the right place, the door slams shut…on my fingers. In the scream of pain, I see clearly that I am but a grain of sand, an instrument, a passenger.

Thy will, not my will.