When I was a kid, I had sticky frogs made out of stretchable rubber, and they were supposed to stick to the walls. There were some other animals, too, that you could throw at the wall and they would splat there, stuck. They never worked very well, and usually ended up coated in dust and hair. I don’t remember playing with them much, but I can remember how good it felt to see them splat against the wall and stick, until they got dust covered and soft, no longer sticky.

Modern art has always seemed more about process than product to me, including Jackson Pollock’s work. I wouldn’t want to decorate my home with it, but I can appreciate the work the artist went through. I’ve worked on one splatter paint canvas, and I enjoyed the process; I enjoyed flinging the paint onto the canvas, and it was satisfying to see it hit the canvas and stick there. There were some near misses, and the lawn was varied shades for a few days, but there was a gratifying feeling from seeing the paint hit the canvas and stay there, permanent.

I’m not very good at archery, and I haven’t held a bow in years. But when I did, it was the same feeling as splatting a sticky frog against the wall, or slinging paint onto a canvas, to have an arrow sink into a target. My skill was at the level of spending a lot of time hunting in the grass for arrows, so it was even more gratifying when one hit the target. It was putting an object in motion, and seeing it reach the target, and a lot of the time it was sheer luck.

I don’t believe in luck, though. I believe in the providence of God. I believe Almighty God holds all things together in this world, everything that has been, will be, is, could have been, or may be. But I can’t see what God is doing, so my part of the process is often like flinging sticky frogs against the wall, hoping something will stick. Flinging paint onto a canvas, and hoping it will make art. Shooting an arrow and hoping it reaches the target. That’s what this blog is. I’m flinging words into the abyss of the internet, and hoping they will stick, somewhere. I’m flinging together stories and words and paragraphs, hoping they will make art. I’m the arrow, and God is the archer, and I don’t see the target yet. At least I know from reading Robin Hood that a good archer never wastes arrows, never loses arrows, and never misses the target. And if there is an archer, and there is an arrow, there must be a target.

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