A Halloween Omen

I don't look for signs.  Certainly God can communicate however he likes.  I have even on rare occasions felt a compulsion to do something brave and out of character that I am convinced came from God.  Or I may sometimes think that an opportunity is too perfect not to be from God.  But my tendency is not to concern myself too much with this stuff because ultimately it doesn't matter; God won't send me a private communique beyond the scope of the Bible in its completeness, so I've already got what I need, and more than enough against which to weigh any feeling or inclination I may have.

When I hear about people who rely on extrabiblical signs and vague feelings of peace to guide decision-making, I feel sad.  Like they missed a crucial memo or something.  John Piper feels sad too; to give special honor to a personal, mystical communication is a denial not only of the Bible's completeness, but of its personal nature.  God speaks individually to anyone who reads it.  This is, of course, one of the big differences between God and J.K. Rowling.  As much as I want to be a Hogwarts student, not one of those books was written just for me (and everyone else) by someone who knows me (and everyone else) implicitly.

Piper writes, "The great need of our time is for people to experience the living reality of God by hearing his word personally and transformingly in Scripture. Something is incredibly wrong when the words we hear outside Scripture are more powerful and more affecting to us than the inspired word of God. Let us cry with the psalmist, “Incline my heart to your word” (Psalm 119:36)."

And yet...

I can't resist the hilarity of how much glass I have broken in this week leading up to Halloween.

We haven't broken a glass in years, despite the frequency with which Songbird now uses them.  In two days, I've broken five.  Well, Cook broke one because he was the one who placed the message board precariously.  I broke the second one by knocking a goblet into a bathroom sink in the dark.  Then, today, Gale Force, who can now reach blindly onto countertops, pulled a drying rack full of forks and wine glasses down onto her little barefooted self.  The forks (and Gale Force) survived intact. 

So without in any way robbing the Bible of its thoroughly personal beauty, I'm having this feeeeeeeling, this strong, magical impression.

That I should buy Corelleware, because I'm sure the plates are next.