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| Luhrs Tower, downtown Phoenix |
That's the caption I added to a photo of the building across the street from where I catch my last bus for the day on my way home from work when I posted it online earlier this evening.
I probably could have snapped a quick picture of any one of ten or fifteen buildings an actual stone's throw away from where this was taken that are just as tall as (if not taller than) this one.
But it was the closest, I was waiting for a bus...
And, well, this one counts as a historic building, which - in my weird, history-obsessed mind - trumps any claim any other building nearby could possibly make of being photo-worthy.
Wait - what was I saying?
Oh, right.
Standing in the shadows of tall buildings always makes me feel small, and that's not a bad thing.
It's not a bad thing because there are some days where I need to be reminded that I am small.
Yes, my design is intricate, and my Maker didn't spare a single detail in my creation.
Yes, I am deeply and intimately loved by God, a being of infinite strength, power, and creativity (amongst other things) that did not spare himself the pain of sacrificing his only son in order to bridge the gap between the two of us.
And all of that makes me incredibly significant, but it doesn't change the fact that I am miniscule.
I say that I need the reminder because sometimes my head fills up so quickly with thoughts of how special I am that I lose sight of how special everyone else is, too.
I start acting like I am the only one God could possibly love, and like I'm the only one he took such care in creating.
When that happens, my uncontrollable ego grows by leaps and bounds.
Eventually that growth is unsustainable, and it pops as suddenly as a bubble, and I'm an ugly mess splattered all over the place.
I don't like being an ugly, splattered mess.
So I take a few seconds every so often to just look up at whatever tall building I happen to be nearest to, and remind myself.
Special, but small.
Same as everyone else.
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