Meet Rosie: She is a five-foot tall employee at our local hospital.
Single minded in her purpose to deliver papers and supplies from one floor to another, it is nearly impossible to dissuade her from these appointed rounds. Visitors and patients who encounter dependable and tireless Rosie zipping down the hall are somewhat taken aback by her flashing red eyes. Rosie is a robot.
She was designed to follow a prescribed and expedient route, even to catching the elevator. If she meets an immovable object, such as a human, she comes to a halt, then, politely sidesteps the inevitable roadblock. Many times she hits the wall to avoid a collision. Not one to whine, in seconds she gets back on the right track and plows ahead. Her impressive devotion to her designated pathway is thought provoking and inspirational.
It has been reported that our roving Rosie has even more proficient cousins in a large Geneva hospital. An army of these techno-tin-persons was designed to assist a medical staff that caters to a diverse international community. Members of this impressive robot troop are programmed to speak to the patient in his native tongue. This incredible technology is priceless in its implications.
A robot's computer does not have the sophistication and significance of a human's spirit. Rosie and her kin run smoothly because they stay on track. They do what they were designed to do by their creator. We do what WE were designed to do when we obey God, the MASTER creator. He programmed our “designer genes” and has the key to our true custom plan. There is a catch though. Mortals have something not available to metal dummies: free will. So, the secret to accessing our purpose is in finding GOD'S will.
Our MASTER PLANNER offers us a custom designed roadmap to fulfilling his purpose for us. He allows us the option of travel on a road of our own choosing, but when we hit life's walls, getting back on track may prove to be impossible without the designer's intervention.
Now meet a three-year-old girl in a well-worn and endearing family story. She is NOT a robot.
Once upon a time, in a Mayberry- blueprint of a southern town, there was a tall, handsome young postal worker. He happened to belong to me. His name was Daddy.
This man of letters, being quite creative, was asked to paint a sign showing the way to the stairs at the back of the post office. He drew a most wonderful HAND, the index finger pointing slightly upward, an infinitely fascinating picture to this pre-reader.
One crisp, sunny day, my grandmother took me outside for a brief mutual recess. Suddenly remembering an unwatched pot on the stove, she told me to stay put. Always a sweet and cooperative child, what I did next was particularly bewildering to the adult observers in my life.
I waited until I heard the door close, then, wheeling my doll buggy around, proceeded down the street with great speed and purpose. Sitting on the curb until all the cars went by, I continued across to the sidewalk that led to that great Federal edifice, the POST OFFICE.
Marching resolutely to where the hand sign stood, I stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up as far as I could without falling over backwards.
At the top stood my smiling father. He had received a call and knew to watch for me. Very gently, both scared and delighted, he said, "Hi sweetheart, who came with you?"
My answer was, "anybody." I have never lived that one down.
In that innocent mind was a feeling of great accomplishment. I had followed the PATH I knew, then saw the SIGN, then looked UP and there stood my kind FATHER, just like I knew he would be. It was a dazzling day for me.
In a short time, Granny appeared, breathless and relieved. Still pushing that buggy, but now headed back in the direction of home, I turned and waved merrily to my very own mailman. He gave a snappy salute to me, his special delivery, and then, whistling, went back to his post.
ROBOTS roll on, taking care of business, but they are unable to bask in any delight in their efforts. When our HUMAN earth journey is finished, we will turn toward home and arrive in His mighty presence. It will be so sweet to hear His salute, "well done my good and faithful servant."