Welcome to the first installment of "The Truth in Small Things." We can't let the Devil have the details all to himself.

Zeno's Paradox states that it is theoretically impossible to travel any distance, because in order to do so, one must first travel half that distance, and in order to do that, one must travel half the half-distance, and so on, ad infinitum. Because distances can be divided into an infinite number of subsections, one could never traverse all the subsections in order to get where one is going.

But we do traverse distances with every motion we make—despite the "impossibility." Like the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland, every day we do six impossible things before breakfast.

The reason why Zeno's paradox, while logical, does not hold true is because it takes a nonmaterial concept—infinity—and attempts to apply it to a material goal—running a race. Moreover, in assuming that the nonmaterial concept may be appled to the material goal, it gives the concept substance—which in reality it does not have.

If we attempted to follow Zeno's Paradox with our every move, subdividing every action, we would never progress. The only way we can operate is by a mysterious yet supremely functional combination of conscious and unconscious action. This is why we can walk and chew gum at the same time. (Remember the diagram that Mad magazine made for Gerald Ford, showing him at which point to step and at which point to chew?)

In order for our brain to control our actions, we have certain priorities which are so important to us that they've become unconscious. We learned them at some point, but we don't even think about them now. Don't let neighbors see you without clothes, don't fall down, don't drool, don't drop litter onto the street, don't walk into people. These priorities have to be unconscious to some degree because it would be too much stress to consciously cognitize all the things we do. Trying to do those things only by concentration can and does drive people crazy.

But then we have other, subtler things we do during the course of the day, which we've likewise made unconscious through daily repetition. Things like how much time we spend with those closest to us, what actions we initiate and what actions we leave to others, and what particular expletive we exclaim when our computer screen goes blank. These may not all be priorities, but they require the same kind of mental prioritization.

We risk damaging ourselves psychologically with feelings of helplessness when we lose consciousness of the range of things in our lives that we can and do control, or when we forget that we can alter the priority that those things have for us.

When Christians speak of "liberty" in Christ, part of that liberty comes through a widened understanding of one's own priorities—and the freedom that comes with the realization that one can actually control one's priorities rather than being controlled by them.

Paul writes in Philippians 3:8-11:

Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ,
And be found in him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith:
That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death;
If by any means I might attain unto the resurrection of the dead.

Most of all, it is a gift to know what is really important, to long for it with all your heart, and to measure everything else in your life by it. Because then, "being rooted and grounded in love, [you] may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God" (Ephesians 3:17-19).