Bumbly, cacophonous, red-eyed bugs

I said I'd write on identity again, but I had one of those moments today where I said, "what an amazing and creative God we serve." I went to look at a house we are going to rent, and, as I turned the corner, I heard the unmistakable sound of cicadas singing. And loud.

I remember reading a few weeks ago in The Towers (Southern's campus newspaper) about the emergence of a kind of cicada that only comes out every seventeen years. Without repeating what Guy Fredrick wrote, I've got to say that, just for a moment, I was amazed. There were thousands of these insects in the trees. A few days ago, they had crawled out of thousands of tiny holes beneath the tree after seventeen (17, dix-sept, ten-plus-seven, eleven years more than Daniel's been around) years of preparation. When these guys climbed down to bury themselves, another Clinton actually had the presidential nomination.

If all the animals and people and bugs happened by chance, how did these critters come to be? No, our Creator willfully and carefully made everything that exists, even bugs with no apparent purpose but who, for a few days, sing and make summer really seem like summer.