Usually a few times a week I find myself, shoe in hand, trying to kill these huge black bugs that wander into my house.
Just to be on record, I'd be happy to shoo them outside to live their buggy little lives in peace in the great outdoors, but I've yet to have one of them willingly walk out the door when I've held it open and politely requested they leave my home.
I will give them credit though... for what they lack in brains, they make up for in sheer indestructibility, they are hearty little runts. I'll thwack away at one until I'm convinced it's dead, I'll be convinced I've killed them, and walk away for a tissue to cart their remains off to the trash and I'll come back to find that even with missing 3 legs, it's guts, and it's head, it has somehow managed to crawl a couple of inches away from where it began it's demise.
I'd begun to believe that no living thing, whether man or beast, or vermin, could be as indestructible as these little fellows.
Until I tried to kill me. I'm talking murder, not suicide.
And then today I got the mental picture of God thwapping at my head with His shoe trying to kill me. Smashing away and I just won't die. It was a living picture of Him trying to save me. He's trying to kill me. So that me will quit killing me.
I'm just a hearty little runt too I guess. Too bad that's not a good thing.