You’re born into calamity. You gave your first breath and you cried and shriveled in the coldness of the air. Quickly you were laid in swaddling clothes. There you lay, alive and helpless. From there, you were brought “home.” It could have been a palace, it could have been a hut, perhaps the street, but you were brought. Food and drink was given to you and you thrived, or not. But let’s say, you did. You carried on. You moved forward. You adapted, you modified, and overcame your circumstances. With help, then, time brought you toward goal after goal. You sat, you stood, you ran, and you, learned how to use the toilet, properly. You were now ready for the “big times.” Slowly, but progressively, you gained in stature and in wisdom. Rule the world, you shall or should. Oftentimes, you became a product of your culture and customs. You sought the world before you and around you. You became aware. Others were like you. Some bigger, some smaller, some good, some bad, some deep, some annoying, some dastardly, some loving; all the while, you learned. Eventually, what shaped you was no longer part of what you had. Now, you got independence. You longed for it. You dreamed about it, idolized it, wanted it. When the “time” was right in someone else’s sight, it was “given” to you, and you fled. Far away, as fast as you could, you flew. More cultures, more customs, more questions, more grief, you evolved and emancipated yourself from the umbilical cord that was suffocating you, or so you thought. You were free, free to choose whatever life brought you. You were there for the taking and this was your time to shine. Victory came at a price. The price tag for freedom is never cheap. These are lessons learned as we peruse the galaxy for adventure and excitement. But then, life takes a swift turn. It’s never easy. That paradigm shift happens when one least expects it. It may be death, divorce or some other mishap, but it invariably happens. Suddenly, life twists upon itself and deconstructs your very existence so that you must reclaim yourself, not as you once were, but as something ever so subtle, but different. What you thought was ironclad became mundane and unimportant. The twist was significant enough to change your direction and off you went, although where exactly, you didn’t know.
A rude awakening. Friends that you thought you couldn’t live without, your very best friends, just became your mortal enemies. You can’t stand to even think about them, let alone look upon them. Cursed creatures, they brought out the worst and what’s even more hurtful is that you gave them the very thing you treasured the most; not love, but trust. How could you? The humiliation brought defensive barriers which begot fear, anger, rage, and despair. Soon, you’re thrust into a human mixer. Which end is up? You’re drowning in your own selfish worth and depression rolls in. What now? Drugs, alcohol, sex, kiwi, and anything to pass the time because now, time has just screeched to a halt. You find new friends but they betray you as well and trust becomes a four letter word. The topography of your self worth has been reduced to a can of Spam. Yes, it can and does get much worse than this. There are those who, inadvertently, check out by several inexplicable means. The path to destruction is laid upon the many, not just the one. A silver lining, perhaps? Maybe. For some, they find the courage and fortitude to press on. Some are blessed to find those friends and family members that actually care. Isn’t that a thought? A change of venue is sometimes appropriate and helpful, so isn’t a nic e weighted blanket. Somethings you just can’t make up. They just fit.
As time beckons, one is left wondering, is this it? What have I accomplished? What is my legacy? To whom do I pass my insignificant air looms to? Stuff becomes just more stuff, and then more. The gathering period begins and some succumb to tribal “pack-ratting.” At the end of it all, it just doesn’t mean ... to a tree. In the end, the end is very final. You can’t bring the stuff with you and there is no legacy for the one who has gone to meet one’s own final resting ground. It’s over before you know it. Looking down the barrel of a gun, one starts to see the end when someone finally pulls back the trigger. It’s funny how one looks at life with such a longevity to it until, another paradigm shift, age. With age, there should be some dignity to it but maybe, just maybe, there really isn’t. Behind closed doors, the elderly are really worried about the finality or they’re in a stupor and they really couldn’t care less about it. The family’s are worried or maybe they’re just waiting for their “just due.” In the end, who cares. It doesn’t matter because we all die alone. All the money, power, fame, and glory doesn’t amount to squat because when you’re dead, well, you’re dead. They could erect a mausoleum and paint your toes red and face blue, but guess what, you’re dead. All these people that go to the grave sites to pay their respects, well guess what, their loved ones are not there. Yes, you guessed it, they’re dead. Gone. So what’s left? I’m reminded of my own life. I pray my wife, who is 16 years younger than me, dies before I do. Why? So, she wouldn’t half to be alone in this house we call a home. Sure, it gets lonely, but she’s not alone! See, as Christians, we believe we live in eternity with God, those of us who believe in His Son, Jesus, and have a personal relationship with Him. So, for me, I’d rather be here alone and suffer without having her here rather than the other way around. It’s not that I love her more or vice versa, it’s about suffering. I’d rather do it than have her go through it. See, life is about suffering. Sure, you have happiness. There’s a lot of that but there’s just as much suffering, if not more. What’s left is hope. What’s left is faith. What’s left is love and sacrifice. A human is not measured by what one has but by what one doesn’t have. Why? The only ”Thing” you really need is Jesus. If you haven’t got Him, then all the things you do have mean absolutely nothing. Sure, I keep on harping on Jesus in a lot of these reflections, but guess what, He harped on me first. He made the first move, I didn’t. So there it is, what’s left? Just, Jesus.