Paradoxes keep me curious. They are those enigmatic conundrums that refuse to fit in the box. One such puzzle is the notion that life is our own, and is simultaneously a blessing from God. They come off as contradictory, but maybe only from sea level. 

 

There are rare instances in which I can hold both notions. One is pregnancy. The sensations woven into that nine month ordeal pushed my body to the outer limits of aliveness. The shimmying limbs inside my own skin made even lying down an electrifying feeling. I brought John's hands to share the experience by pressing them on my belly. Yet intimately tied to that selfhood was the undeniability that life belongs to God. I could no more craft the body, or in the case of the twins bodies growing inside me than I could assemble a dishwasher. I would be a fool to take credit for these babies, but I would also be a fool to dismiss the joy their presence brought me. 

 

Another way I can bridge the two realities is to pay attention to my voice. The feeling of being part of a congregation singing is a whole staircase above conversation. Being caught up in lyrics and resonance lifts my spirit off the floor. Yet I only need to recall those awkward moments of laryngitis to know for certain that my voice is a gift. 

 

It turns out that the two realities are not mutually exclusive. Rather they bring a deeper dimension to what it means to be human.