I've refreshed a number like it was prayer. I've walked into a thin room and felt personally accused by the empty chairs, as if attendance were the temple. People don't usually start with worship of wood. They start with relief. Something they can touch. Something that answers on demand.

The maker engraves it. Then the maker trusts it. Then the maker talks to it like it can answer. The idol isn't powerful. The maker is lonely for certainty, and wood is cheaper than waiting. Gold and silver on the outside, no breath within. I'm not anti-tool. I'm anti-trusting what has no breath. Tools don't mind being quiet. Idols do, which is how you know you've crossed the line.

Anchored in Habakkuk 2:18-19. Part of The Waiting Season, a walk through the three chapters of Habakkuk.