All around the upper ledges of the curved glass windows in our living room perches a collection of dappled and dimpled art glass tumblers. These brightly colored tumblers come from an old family collection. They were put together long ago by grandparents long gone. They bring hundreds of different shades and hues of color into the room on a sunny day.

Of course, our house is also located in an earthquake zone.

In fact, every year at least a couple low-number, rocking-n-rattling sessions roll through the Puget Sound area. Although a tiny drop of museum putty helps give the glassware a bit of a foothold, we're ever mindful that any good shake could easily bring them all down. It would seem that our wish to keep the tumblers in clear view and the inherent instability of the land we sit on are at, well, cross-purposes.

Cross-purposes keep the pet-lover with allergies continually sneezing and snuffling while joyously playing fetch with the dog.

Cross-purposes keep the gardener moving slowly and cautiously on arthritic joints while gleefully playing in the dirt.

Cross-purposes keep football-loving dads at a daughter's Sunday afternoon ballet recital instead of at the stadium.

Making choices that run counter to our good sense or best interests, making decisions that are at cross-purposes with that which is easiest or even most enjoyable, is the central paradox of the Christian faith.