​Last week I saw a news report that the government in Iraq is frantically searching for some missing radioactive material. Apparently a device containing radioactive iridium isotopes was stolen not long ago. Officials are concerned that the “highly dangerous” material might fall into the hands of the Islamic State. They could conceivably attach the material to an explosive device turning it into a dirty bomb. This is a credible possibility. Last year a group that is part of the Islamic State claimed that they had managed to procure some uranium that had been looted from Mosul University and used it to build a dirty bomb.
 
Isn’t that just delightful news? The media conjures up terrifying scenarios of terrorists setting off a radioactive bomb in an urban setting and thereby not only killing many with the explosion but also imperiling the lives of many more people through possible radiation poisoning. Then of course there is the threat of exposure to radiation eventually causing cancer in victims even years later. This is the stuff of nightmares, something that we desperately want to see confined to television shows where Jack Bauer or some other hero can come to the rescue before the unthinkable happens. One of Laurie’s and my favorite shows is Castle, and that show had two episodes built around precisely this scenario.

​Laurie and I are different. You can see it in text messages we send. She liberally sprinkles her texts with exclamation points and even uses emojis rather indiscriminately. I only use exclamation points when it seems absolutely necessary to express astonishment, amazement, or possibly strong emphasis, and have probably used an emoji once in my life. I tend to be a little…what shall I say…particular about grammar and punctuation, even in texts. Not too long ago I learned to my dismay that Laurie has been right all along.
 
Recently in an article in The Washington Post Rachel Feltman wrote, “ending your texts with a period is truly monstrous.” Wait, what? It is grammatically correct to end a sentence with a period and everyone knows that. Ms. Feltman insists that not only is it not correct, but it is “monstrous.” Monstrous? I’m a monster because I ended my sentence in a text with a period? Excuse me, but I’m afraid we’re suffering from severe word inflation here. I believe the word she was looking for was “right.” Ms. Feltman’s rationale was “it just doesn’t look friendly.” My first reaction is her thought about periods in texts clearly is the ridiculous opinion of one probably misguided woman. My second reaction is, why is such a thing even being written about in The Washington Post? Must have been an awfully slow news day.

​Sometimes it can be awfully easy to feel like our lives are insignificant. Most of our days are occupied with routine actions that are the very definition of mundane. The larger world around us takes no notice of us, no one has ever heard of us. We can feel like we have little impact on much of anything. If we reflect on the smallness and the routine nature of so much of our lives it is easy to get to the place where we wonder “what’s the point? Nothing I do really matters.” For me, I can easily find myself thinking, “Preach another sermon, come up with some questions for Facebook, write another blog, lead another Bible study, so what? Who really cares?” Recently I was editing the text of my most recent sermon so it could be posted on our church web site and the thought that this was totally futile kept plaguing me. “No one’s going to take time to read this. Why am I bothering to edit this so it can be posted?” Then when you throw in doing the routine things like paying the bills yet again, having an appointment with the eye doctor this week and the dentist next week, oh, and I need to plan for the oil change for the car, it all can seem awfully humdrum.
 
The simple truth is that much of life consists of repeating seemingly unimportant but necessary actions. They must be done, but no one ever notices. When we get focused on the dulling routine and the insignificance of it all we can easily grow discouraged or depressed. This can be especially true when we reflect on the fact that even our most important or significant acts most of the time don’t really amount to much in the world’s estimation. We compare our little “works” with the things that some other people do. Maybe we look at the great notice given to some famous athlete, or the astounding ministry of some Christian leader who impacts thousands of people, or the money given by some philanthropist and think, “my things don’t matter at all. It’s all just too small.” Can anything help us avoid that?