If you’ve seen “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves,” you probably know what’s coming next.
“Why a spoon, cousin? Why not an axe?”
“Because it’s dull, you twit. It’ll hurt more.”
Frankly, that has nothing to do with this post, except that the wording of the title reminded me of this scene.
It’s really hard to come up with a blog/domain name. Like painfully difficult. Can I get an amen? Seriously. I think that step alone is probably what stops three out of four would-be bloggers in their tracks. That number isn’t scientific at all, sorry. So, here.
“True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing.” Socrates
I think there’s a lot that we can’t know and there’s definitely a lot that I don’t know, and I’m most definitely trying to embrace the not knowing. Confession: I’m a horrible know-it-all sometimes. I know. See, I did it again.
Being right all the time isn’t a risky way to live. It’s super boring. There’s no adventure in it. And it’s just not true, nor True. Nobody has all the answers here. Nobody is right all the time. I’m not right all the time. I don’t have all the answers. There’s freedom in admitting it. I want to find myself admitting to wonder and awe a lot more often than I do, I want to find myself admitting what I don’t know a lot more readily. I want to promptly admit when I’m wrong, and I want to be okay with being wrong.
A thimble is a finger protector while sewing, a board game piece when playing Monopoly, or a tool used for measuring when pouring drinks, sure. But what strikes me about the image of the thimble is not how small it is, but that the things that matter don’t have any measurable size, I think. So, a thimbleful is as vast as an ocean, and yet tangible and immediate enough to hold it in my hand. Even a little, teensy-weensy bit of meaning, of value, of truth/Truth, of beauty, of worth will fit in a thimble, but their value, well, that’s uncontainable.