And to give those live things he will take care to give them without overwhelming, without “killing” our souls. Whereas we would drink draughts like a parched throated man from the desert till we are bloated and no longer capable of enjoying the ‘live” things. We will hoard the “good” till we have made ugly that which was once beautiful.
And when we find the cup has been taken from our mouths we turn pouting, arms folded with scowls of distrust. “Oh, but of course, I knew it would not last. He isn’t so good after all. I never should have trusted.” Only we do not understand that his taking of the cup from us might very well be to fill it again with more, with better than we have tasted; as much as it might be to keep us from becoming ill on the richness of drink.
Hell, is full of children, not the child-like; isolated in their own self righteousness, certain the Father wanted only ill for them. Well, it is ill they received, in the end. Not some burning place with red-tailed creatures and pitch forks. No, it is playgrounds barren of playmates, yet full of children with their arms folded in disgust at such injustice.
All the while forgetting that it is live things He cares about….