The past becomes as mysterious as the future.
Imagine you're sitting on a park bench, idly watching some kids play, when you notice that one little face looks familiar. In some ways, it's very similar to the face you see in the mirror every day. You really don't want to go up to that little girl or boy and say, "Are you the younger version of me?"
If you actually could meet a younger version of yourself, would you recognize yourself... without referring to your mom's old photo albums?
I think I would. But I'm not sure.
I've changed. I'm a compilation of so many things that I never even imagined when I was playing on that playground. Of course, so are you. We grow, in height, personality, character, and become more complicated all the time.
I've lived in seven states. Those places, people, experiences, the books I've read... they are all a part of my mixed up grown up self. I have a sort of sense of them all, but I don't remember all the names. Adding books to my Facebook profile, I wished I had a list of all the books I have ever read, just so I could remember them all- for myself. And I can't really identify which part of my character and personality goes with which place, person, experience, book. When I go back to the old places, I say, "This feels familiar. But different. Smaller..." and I dig for details in my head. Was that corner store there when I rode my bike down this street as an eighth-grader?
I have a filing cabinet full of folders and some of them are labeled, "Souveneirs 2000", "Souveneirs 2001", and so on, up to this year... I haven't labeled the tab for this year, yet, but it is a black folder. It is, possibly, the most stuffed-full of any year. Movie tickets, only from the ones I really loved. An airline ticket from the Dominican Republic, a note pad from the hotel, Sosua by the Sea. A birthday card. A letter from my sweet fifteen year old brother. He writes me when he wants support for his class trips. Just kidding. He is sweet, and fun, regardless, and I miss him all the time.
Brochures from Regent University. Ticket to Carowinds, ticket to Georgia Aquarium. Commencement program from my sister's graduation. A thank you note from a 2:52 leader. Program from BJU symphony, flyer from PWC Banquet for Life, invitation to a baby shower. Deflated balloons from that guy at Corona's who showed us how to make balloon animals, telling the story of Jonah with a fish balloon after he heard that Janine was going to work with kids in Mexico. Receipt from a dining common lunch with my 21 year old brother. "What an honor"... First check stub from Stevens Aviation...
I hold onto these folders full of (actually) worthless things because I love these memories. I love life.
But all the time, I know that life is slipping out of me slowly, like the sand in a sand timer. It's falling out, through a tiny hole underneath my feet, and piling up somewhere deep in the earth. And one day that stream of white life-sand will speed up, falling faster and faster and faster, and it will disappear entirely, and my life will be gone. And there will be no way to turn the sand timer right side up again. Because I'll have had my turn. And eventually, other people will forget that I ever lived at all.
I admit that death bothers me, deeply. The death of old people bothers me, perhaps, most of all. Because old people are valuable. Their minds are full of knowledge, memories, experiences, they're the only ones who can explain the stories behind those black and white photographs. They love the people in their lives in certain specific ways, and when that love is gone, it is gone. They have strengths, jokes, irritating and endearing ways, things they say that are theirs, and theirs alone. They are unique. And when they are gone, they are gone... not simply dissolved, but torn out, leaving a gaping hole in the people who loved them back.
The loved and still loving will try to keep the folders of souveneirs, try to remember those memories, and to tell those stories, not so well. And then, they will die when their own life-sand runs out. And the next people will reduce those souveneirs to trash, and they'll never feel that gaping hole. And the trashers, the race that never knew Joseph, will live without any knowledge of the things that those bodies in the cemetery experienced, without any sense of their character or any memories of their love. Their history didn't make it into any history book.
So what is the point of this life, anyway?
I've thought about these things many times, and I've discovered that most people try not to think about them. They push thoughts of death into a closet and let them collect dust, like inconvenient, ugly sculptures. And they fill the rest of the house with bright photographs and music, and go to the bathroom to put on their makeup, and color their gray hairs, and lay food and drinks out on a table, and pretend that their party will last forever.
I've wondered if my life really did have any meaning, and I knew that I could never pretend that my parties would last forever.
I've come to terms with the knowledge that I will die, but not alone. The only way that I could is with the peace and faith in the Bible's promises that God has given me. I'm not saying that these thoughts will never trouble me again. They certainly will. But I can bring them straight to God, knowing that He will tell me once again, "I go to prepare a place for you."
This life is not all that there is. There is life everlasting. There is a whole spiritual realm that I cannot see, but that is real, just as real as the ground I walk on and the sky above me, if not more so. And because God exists, because He died for me, because He has promised me eternal life, and I am destined for Heaven, my temporary life HAS to be focused like a laser beam on the reallly important things. If I had no hope, if I could only cling to the parties, I would cling to them. Trust me! Even knowing about the spiritual realm, believing it, believing that I will have eternal life after this temporary one, I still struggle. I want to fill my life with music, movies, and fun, and push these thoughts into that closet to gather dust, like it seems that everyone else is doing. If life were truly meaningless, I would do this.
I WILL be forgotten.
But I can do something to see that God is not forgotten.
He changes lives. I can't do that.
In the Old Testament, God tells the Israelites to set up memorials of His work for the next generation. And that's what I want to do. To take care of children, teach them, and make sure that they will remember Him. That they'll teach their own children about Him. That they'll know meaning in their own lives, and that their children will know it too.
With His help, I want to "raise up the foundations of many generations... repair... the breach, restore... streets to dwell in."
I love this picture. It's as though people throughout history have been wrecking the world God created. I see them with pickaxes, hacking away at the buildings and their foundations, splashing graffiti, trashing the places that He meant to be safe and clean.
But there is a whole army of Christians who are saying, "No." And they are building those places again. They have compassion, and they "let the oppressed go free... break every yoke... share [their] bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into [their] house[s]... cover them..."
And the great thing is, I can be a part of that building and repair team! And I will do it... I'll haul brick, nail boards together, sweep the streets... whatever it takes to repair this breach that wicked men have created. To help make a way for little ones to get to God. It's the greatest job, the heaviest responsibility, the way to build something that can last eternally. To repair the breach, this is what really matters.
It will be hard. I'm sure, wherever I go, whatever I do with kids, it will end up feeling mundane and pointless People aren't quickly fixable like broken faucets. You can be a part of a great, vast repair team going back through history, with a "cloud of witnesses" on your side, and not even realize it, because you aren't seeing any immediate results, and you're not seeing the big picture.
But listen to these promises, for anyone who has the same desire. We will have help...
"Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’ If you take away the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday.
And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail."
Water in scorched places. What could be more refreshing? I could write a whole post about water. To me, it is as mysterious as life. Cool, cleansing, unlike anything else. It fills every space it meets. I'm always trying to think of metaphors for running water, streams, waterfalls. I can't, really. But I know that I need it. And in these dry, hot, barren places, we will NEED it... desperately. Even in those places, God promises to guide us. He promises to "satisfy our desire." If we pour ourselves out for people in need, we will never run out of the things that we need. We will have light, healing, direction, strength. We'll have the Great Guide, and we'll be like springs of water, whose waters do not fail.
In this blog, I'll be writing stories of life temporary and everlasting. Some my own. Some belonging to people I will meet. Some belonging to imaginary people. I love fiction, and today, I found a museum that promises lots of inspiration. But I will try to focus not on my own thoughts, which are changeable and often wrong, but on the God who created water, and who makes us like springs in scorched places, refreshing everyone around us, never giving up.
We can't do that on our own.
