I have a fleeting memory from being pregnant. I woke up with a jolt, afraid of the consequences of having been asleep. I had forgotten to be pregnant. In that fuzzy space between wakefulness and slumber it seemed as if my negligence would have catastrophic results. The baby would die. 

 

Then rational thought jiggled into action and I recalled that growing this baby was not actually my job. It mattered what I ate, and whether I avoided danger. But the technical parts like organ assembly were outside my purview. 

 

There are a surprising number of other areas that I am intimately involved with and yet have no authority. Take digestion for example. The particulars of saliva, and digestive juices, and the small intestine are complex indeed. But it matters not a whit whether I am paying attention. Circulation, too, follows elaborate paths throughout my extremities, delivering oxygenated blood and disposing waste gases. Yet those noble systems neither wait for my approval nor ask for my gratitude before they dedicate themselves to a lifetime of service. 

 

How is that possible? It is undeniably My marrow, My immune system, My capillaries, and My esophagus. Yet it seems absurd to graft on a label like "mine" while speaking of processes I cannot explain or improve. I am the beneficiary, not the founder. 

 

It occurs to me that my spiritual health is also well designed. Certainly God asks me to ingest healthy influences, and avoid harmful ones. Yet if God is reluctant to give me admin status on my endocrine system why would he be more cavalier with my eternal welfare? 

 

"It is not so difficult to live a life that leads to heaven as is believed." Heaven and Hell 528, Emanuel Swedenborg