I was Ranger Mark this past week at my church's version of VBS, which means that I'm kind of a big deal. My job was to stand on a stage and be the serious one who brings every single story back to the story of Jesus and to high-five kids as enthusiastically as I possibly could. I was essentially the Beatles all wrapped up in one in cargo shorts and hiking boots.
One thing that stuck out to me was this: there was a woman there who was in a mechanized wheel chair with one of those typewriter things that she could write what she wanted to say, because she wasn't able to speak. There was one point though, in which I was walking past and saw what she was saying. The screen read "I love you so much", and I just about lost it. I just thought this held so much significance.
This woman probably doesn't say a whole lot in her day, but what struck me was the significance that the words held. She's not wasting time, she's not droning on, but she's speaking with more significance than I do. And I know I'm totally making this a bigger deal than it is, and I'm not putting much effort into my writing style or word choice, but please bear with me, because I think this holds some relevance.
Just like this woman wasn't wasting words because she couldn't produce a lot of words, we shouldn't be wasting time, because we don't have a huge supply of it. We shouldn't be living insignificantly and living without purpose, because we honestly don't have enough time. Our days are marked and will be over before we know it. So we need to make each moment as significant as each word for that woman.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
The Frame Called Future
I heard a story once of a village at the base of snow-capped mountains. A stream ran through the village, trees outlined it, and it wasn't unusual for deer to wander into civilization's bright light. This village was weird, though, because their whole life consisted of them finding paintings or pictures beautiful without noticing the beauty around them. They were right next to such a beautiful landscape and they had never even looked up to see it.
Finally though, someone pointed out the snow on the mountains, the deer right across the stream, and the towering trees that surrounded them. The odd thing, though, was that no one found the scenery beautiful. No one considered the landscape directly surrounding them wonderful. That is, until someone had the bright idea of looking at the scenery by staring the opposite direction into a mirror pointed towards the mountains, streams, or deer. That way, one could look at the nearby scenery but it was still framed and seen the same way they saw paintings and pictures in the past.
Thus, the people in this village spent their lives only appreciating the amazing qualities of their town when they pointed 180 degrees away from the actual scenery, never seeing the majesty for what it actually was. I feel like this could be considered an allegory for me, and probably a majority of people at some point in their lives.
I just get super excited about the future. Not just distant future - like career, wife, and kids - but also near future - like job, college, and girlfriend(s). I have a great talent at being able to romanticize the future. My job will be purposeful and fulfilling, my wife will be perfect, and I will be too, at that point. I'll be well loved, and I will love meaningfully. I will have great friends, I will have great influence, I will have a deep level of meaning. And it is like such that much of my life is spent, romanticizing about the future, dreaming about the future, looking at beauty through the mirror called "future".
And to be honest, I think a lot of people live their lives like this. The "now" is something that we need to get through in order to get to the "later" and the "later" is never achieved. My wife will be awesome, my job will be awesome, my life will be awesome, but when I actually get married and get a job I'll be dreaming about how to make them better. I'll think of how to get higher responsibilities in my job, and I'll think about what I can do to make my marriage better. I'll always be looking into the future, and passing by the beauty right in front of me. Like the people in that story who couldn't appreciate beauty unless they saw it through a small frame, I can't appreciate the beauty of my life until I look at it until I look at it through the broken frame of the future.
And this is what God has been teaching me lately. That life is beautiful, right now. He whispered it to me on the 4th of July, when I drove back at night and saw fireworks on either side of the freeway, and a close-to-full moon on my left. He whispers it to me when I'm talking with the people I love, when I'm able to spend time with close friends. Life is beautiful, right now. Life is something to be seen in full and not only through a broken frame called "future".
Finally though, someone pointed out the snow on the mountains, the deer right across the stream, and the towering trees that surrounded them. The odd thing, though, was that no one found the scenery beautiful. No one considered the landscape directly surrounding them wonderful. That is, until someone had the bright idea of looking at the scenery by staring the opposite direction into a mirror pointed towards the mountains, streams, or deer. That way, one could look at the nearby scenery but it was still framed and seen the same way they saw paintings and pictures in the past.
Thus, the people in this village spent their lives only appreciating the amazing qualities of their town when they pointed 180 degrees away from the actual scenery, never seeing the majesty for what it actually was. I feel like this could be considered an allegory for me, and probably a majority of people at some point in their lives.
I just get super excited about the future. Not just distant future - like career, wife, and kids - but also near future - like job, college, and girlfriend(s). I have a great talent at being able to romanticize the future. My job will be purposeful and fulfilling, my wife will be perfect, and I will be too, at that point. I'll be well loved, and I will love meaningfully. I will have great friends, I will have great influence, I will have a deep level of meaning. And it is like such that much of my life is spent, romanticizing about the future, dreaming about the future, looking at beauty through the mirror called "future".
And to be honest, I think a lot of people live their lives like this. The "now" is something that we need to get through in order to get to the "later" and the "later" is never achieved. My wife will be awesome, my job will be awesome, my life will be awesome, but when I actually get married and get a job I'll be dreaming about how to make them better. I'll think of how to get higher responsibilities in my job, and I'll think about what I can do to make my marriage better. I'll always be looking into the future, and passing by the beauty right in front of me. Like the people in that story who couldn't appreciate beauty unless they saw it through a small frame, I can't appreciate the beauty of my life until I look at it until I look at it through the broken frame of the future.
And this is what God has been teaching me lately. That life is beautiful, right now. He whispered it to me on the 4th of July, when I drove back at night and saw fireworks on either side of the freeway, and a close-to-full moon on my left. He whispers it to me when I'm talking with the people I love, when I'm able to spend time with close friends. Life is beautiful, right now. Life is something to be seen in full and not only through a broken frame called "future".
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