A final thought on thrash. One Sunday, I heard a story about Enterprise Alabama, a small community near the Florida panhandle. The town center is known for its rather odd historic monument: a fountain that features a statue of a beautiful woman in a flowing gown, holding a giant version of a Boll Weevil. What’s strange is the fact that this insect is an agricultural pest, and the female figure holds it high over her head in tribute fashion. An inscription says, “In profound appreciation of the Boll Weevil and what it has done as the herald of prosperity.”

Initially, I thought of high school boys late at night, with pranks on their minds. Wikipedia confirmed my suspicions. Vandalism has been a constant issue throughout the years. I had to read on.

The story behind it all was far more interesting. The boll weevil made its way to Alabama from Mexico in 1915. In those days, farming was the economy, and cotton was its cash cow. By 1918, farmers were losing entire crops to the beetle. A man named H. M. Sessions saw the insect plague as an opportunity to convert the area’s produce to peanut farming. He convinced another farmer to back his venture. Their first crop covered all their debt, and others farmers swiftly followed suit. Later on cotton was planted again but a shift had occurred: Farmers diversified their crops, and that change brought prosperity to their county. Bon Fleming, a local business owner, had the idea to build the monument. He recognized how something disastrous can actually serve as a catalyst for change.

The question to ask … Was it odd, or was it God? Could this be a story of God Thrash?

Of course God thrash is epic all over the Bible. As spectators reading long after the fact, we can see how God brought good from disaster–the cross and resurrection being the most extraordinary thrash moves of God.

The problem comes when you are caught in the middle of a catastrophe, and left wondering how Something-This-Bad could possibly fit with the purposes of God, or any good thing for that matter. I don’t have grandiose answers for that, but I have learned a few things.

John Eldredge said that life is a series of small stories. We tend to get stuck in the small stories, bumping our heads on the low ceilings. But if God is telling a larger story about a greater reality, things begin to look different.

For example, in Africa the growing orphan situation is nothing short of catastrophic. AIDS and war, like boll weevils, have decimated the landscape. My friend Rob said that tribal hatred is actually the worst problem, even greater than AIDS. How can generational bitterness, centuries old, ever change?

Yet in our village, orphans from three different tribes are growing up as buddies and BFFs, and this has started a shift that could transform an ageless problem. With a whole generation of parents gone, children are not being taught to hate each other. Something new is happening.

As Tolstoy said, “True life is lived when tiny changes occur.” If a tiny bug can bring prosperous changes to a farming community, just think of the possibilities with a God who uses thrash for good.

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