Home for Christmas. A couple of years ago, after I went to college, my parents moved which for me meant a frantic "pack and move" on a quick trip home. I just threw everything in boxes since I already had everything important with me up in Fort Collins. The move didn't bother me, I had neutral feeling about the whole thing. Retrospectively I do miss our old house, but oh well... at this one there is a 7/11 just around the corner. Since I'm home for awhile with nothing to do I asked my dad if he could dig up a couple of those boxes from storage so I could properly go through them and trim down on things I no longer have use for.
My journey through the past years in these boxes brought me almost to tears. Aren't memories interesting in that way? Nothing sad or happy about the past, the old days weren't any better than these. Yet nonetheless I felt the tears welling up as I sorted through the old baseball trophies and toys from my younger days. I came across some photos in one of the boxes, an assortment of all kinds of pictures from my childhood through my teenage years. There were pictures of friends, graduation parties, people I didn't know and I even found a few of my dad in an f-4 from when he was a fighter pilot. (I found one picture of me around 4 years old playing the piano with no pants and a flannel shirt on... I guess you never grow out of some things.) As I gazed at the faces, at my own young face, I felt the past staring at me with the questions of what have I done since then and who have I become?
My work is God's work. If I die and few people know, and the ripples of my life extend no farther than an occasional warm memory for a few people, that's okay. To God be the glory, not me. I don't have to be an Augustine or a Luther or a Piper; God appoints who those men shall be. (Just a note: I do sometimes crave the immortal attention that men like that get, and so I have to be careful) However, may my influences in this world be limited by God's infinite wisdom and power, not by my own apathetic, easily amused heart that so often craves ease and instant gratification rather than the riches of the glory of God.
I heard a thought once that said something to the effect that the best type of propaganda is the type that does not allow itself to be recognized as propaganda. I believe the converse is true when it comes to matters of truth. The truth in the most danger is the truth that does allows itself to be recognized as truth. Think about it; how many times have you heard the phrase "I know that's true, but...?" How many times have you said it? I know a lot of true things, and yet my life often lacks the signs of the value which that truth carries with it. For me, one of the most constant battles is to continually feel the weight of the preciousness of what we are about. As I looked into the grainy faces on those old photographs the truth and weight of these words came flooding back to me... "Only one life, twill soon be past. Only what's done for Christ will last."
Most people reading my blog know that phrase and agree that it is a true statement. Oh please don't agree so easily! Let your heart wrestle with that thought as you plan out your day and who you will pray for before you go to bed tonight. Let it hit you! "Only one life, twill soon be past. Only what's done for Christ will last."
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