The words infinite and finite should sound a lot more alike than they do. Language fail.
I’ve been thinking a lot about these two words lately. Infinite: without end, an impossible amount. Finite: limited, restricted.
Our brains operate in finite equations. Infinity is literally impossible for us to fully grasp.
Despite that, my emotions and my language trend infinite. “It took forever.” “I’ll never catch up.”
I realized something this week. (Not a major epiphany, but still helpful.)
All of my problems are finite. And when I panic, it’s usually because I’ve assigned infinity to my problem.
My mundane trials: I am intimidated by what I don’t know. I’m overwhelmed by the amount of work I have to do. There are too many words in the foreign language I’m learning. I’m never going to get my book published with the amount of authors and books already out there.
In all my little issues, I’ve put this thought of infinity versus finite into the mix this week. There is a finite amount of knowledge. There is a finite mess in my house. There is a finite number of books in the world. Even the number of stars is a precise, nameable number. It’s an unknown and huge number, but it’s limited.
It might be just me, but this thought frees me. There is a limit to all these things. It is possible to control what’s limited. Not that I can, personally, or will. But there is a limit.
Only God is truly infinite. And God is love. God is right and true and good. Everything else has a limit and an end.