As a kid, I loved helping Mom fix spaghetti. It was all because she taught me to test if it was done by throwing it against the fridge. If it stuck, it was done. My brothers and I would fight over who got to throw it onto the fridge. By the time dinner was ready there would be five or six pieces of spaghetti stuck on the fridge and several more on the floor.
So tonight as I was making spaghetti for dinner, I had this weird random thought: Does God ever feel like throwing me against his fridge to see if I'm done yet?
I wonder...
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