My desk is a mess. There are Post-It Notes everywhere, loose change, reading glass cases with no reading glasses. Pens and paper. Dust.
Scripture says I am but dust. This desk is littered with little pieces of me.
There are times in life when you are filled with hope and promise and the glory of a day not yet lived. Those are the rich days—days of anticipation with no dread. They are treasure, but you are so busy enjoying them you never notice them slipping away.
Then there are days when you just feel . . . nothing. Those days pass at two speeds. In one sense they move like stale air. At a less than fully conscious level they are fast and chaotic, and when they are over you remember almost nothing about them. No lessons learned. No pilgrim’s progress. Just a faint recollection that something happened, and it turned out to be nothing, except maybe a little more dust.
Sometimes I think about the possibility of my sweet wife cleaning out my clutter when I am gone. The unfinished stories and poems, the calls I never answered, the cards I couldn’t throw away.
All these little pieces of me will have to be cleaned up someday, if not by my wife, then by my children or someone. I wonder—what will she think of this? Will it bring a smile or a tear? Will this embarrass? Anger? Rekindle old frustrations?
This week two old, prominent Americans passed away, and they left some big pieces of themselves behind. Eunice Kennedy Shriver founded the Special Olympics and helped bring the mentally and physically disadvantaged out from behind closed doors and institutional gates. Les Paul invented the solid body electric guitar, pioneered modern recording technologies, and made some great music along the way. I’m sure they leave behind some dust, too, but they will be remembered for great things.
I look across my desk and I see no great things expect my wife, children and grandchild, captured in pictures. Little pieces of me cling to the frames and the glass, stealing some of their brightness.
Lately I’ve been reading the Book of Job, which is probably a bad idea when one is depressed. Job lost everything, and then sat in the dirt and grieved. His friends did not help. Time did not heal. Job just spent each excruciating day asking God for an answer.
I have questions for God too, but He’s already given me the answer, I think. It is similar to the one He gave Job. "Get off your butt. Quit thinking about yourself. I am God and you are not.”
Job said it correctly, “The fear of the Lord, that is wisdom.” God gave me this life. It is a sin to tear it into little pieces.
It’s time to clean the desk. It’s time to dust.
Scripture says I am but dust. This desk is littered with little pieces of me.
There are times in life when you are filled with hope and promise and the glory of a day not yet lived. Those are the rich days—days of anticipation with no dread. They are treasure, but you are so busy enjoying them you never notice them slipping away.
Then there are days when you just feel . . . nothing. Those days pass at two speeds. In one sense they move like stale air. At a less than fully conscious level they are fast and chaotic, and when they are over you remember almost nothing about them. No lessons learned. No pilgrim’s progress. Just a faint recollection that something happened, and it turned out to be nothing, except maybe a little more dust.
Sometimes I think about the possibility of my sweet wife cleaning out my clutter when I am gone. The unfinished stories and poems, the calls I never answered, the cards I couldn’t throw away.
All these little pieces of me will have to be cleaned up someday, if not by my wife, then by my children or someone. I wonder—what will she think of this? Will it bring a smile or a tear? Will this embarrass? Anger? Rekindle old frustrations?
This week two old, prominent Americans passed away, and they left some big pieces of themselves behind. Eunice Kennedy Shriver founded the Special Olympics and helped bring the mentally and physically disadvantaged out from behind closed doors and institutional gates. Les Paul invented the solid body electric guitar, pioneered modern recording technologies, and made some great music along the way. I’m sure they leave behind some dust, too, but they will be remembered for great things.
I look across my desk and I see no great things expect my wife, children and grandchild, captured in pictures. Little pieces of me cling to the frames and the glass, stealing some of their brightness.
Lately I’ve been reading the Book of Job, which is probably a bad idea when one is depressed. Job lost everything, and then sat in the dirt and grieved. His friends did not help. Time did not heal. Job just spent each excruciating day asking God for an answer.
I have questions for God too, but He’s already given me the answer, I think. It is similar to the one He gave Job. "Get off your butt. Quit thinking about yourself. I am God and you are not.”
Job said it correctly, “The fear of the Lord, that is wisdom.” God gave me this life. It is a sin to tear it into little pieces.
It’s time to clean the desk. It’s time to dust.
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