Schedule

     Working retail, I understand following a schedule and getting there on time. I understand that the world revolves and keeps on turning even without us. We depend upon the clock and the toll of the bell. And if I were to quit my job or disappear off the face of the earth my position would be replaced. Someone else would be found to do the work I did. I am simply a little tiny gear in a complicated system. My work can be done by another. But the schedule must be conformed to. I have a hard time with this sometimes because I have my own time. My own perspective and enjoyments that must be heard too. But who else cares of me? The days continue to unfold. The ocean does not care about a little boat trying to keep from sinking. I am but a drop in the bucket.
     Round and round the world goes. Generations of workers, associates, and businessmen come and go. A business goes under, another takes its place for the need. Leaders and nations fall. Others rise. The pattern of the human race. The clock ticks on.
     When you look at it this way, you wonder, what is the point in life? It's all meaningless. Utterly meaningless. Solomon, history's wisest man, said the same thing. The book of Ecclesiastes describes the search for meaning in this world. Is life about money? Someone else gets it when you die. Is life about love? This person may give their life for you but you too will still die. Is life about passing what you know down to the next generation? They will make the same mistakes as you no matter how hard you may try to tell them not to and why. That is humanity. We all grow up on our own. We all die on our own. Is life about having that next generation? Parenting is hard and not all are cut out for it. And even more have children and leave everyone else to take care of them. So many orphans out there. Is life about happiness? Happiness is a choice and the dead don't feel.
     We are all on a schedule. Waiting for the unknown day when Death comes knocking. So we try to fill our days with meaning. Vanity of vanities. We can't figure out the meaning. And the world keeps on turning. Utterly meaningless.
     Except one thing.
     The meaning.
     Water to wine. Death to life. Scars of healing. The mystery of a power that changed the world.
     Tears divine that fell into the ocean.
     Colored a bunch of little drops and dropped them into the giant bucket.
     And the rings spread out, tainting the water.
     The Meaning has come: "Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, 'I find no pleasure in them.'" Ecclesiastes 12:1
     Our journey of searching for meaning has a meaning of its own. The One to give us joy, love, purpose, and a place in this world is here. When the One gave Life over to Death, Death was conquered.
     The meaning.
     Preparation for the Day after we have died. The return of Jesus as the Conquering King. Those of us who live for Him are waiting for His time. His schedule. Not the world's. His.
     His timing is perfect. Never forget.

Magic Moments

     There are times in everyone's life where a delightful moment seems frozen in time. A memory not easily shaken. The beauty of a landscape. The laughter of a child. Giving a much-needed gift. Holding someone's hand. Receiving the surprise of your life. The joy of an amusement park or curling up somewhere to rest after weeks of endless work. Something happens where the timing is just right. And it seems like magic.
     And we remember it. Is it because we have to, to make it through this life? Or is it simply because it leaves such a lasting impression? I have the same recall of four hours of long hard work as I have of a four minute walk down the street with someone that matters to me. One I look back on with relief it's over, the latter I can't believe it only lasted that long and wish I could relive that moment. And I do. In my mind. Closing my eyes, seeing again every detail, storing it away. It was not an intended or planned moment. And yet the timing could not have been better. That's what makes it so special.
     Who are we to remember those magic moments? Animals recall patterns, repeats. But us, we do something out of the ordinary or something that means something to us, it is seared into our minds. Are we all scribes, chroniclers at heart? Do we live to make those memories so that the seemingly pointless human life has something to look back upon when facing despair? Or is it because of a God who knows every hair on our heads and sees every moment of our lives and calls us special? Would it be that when history falls apart and the world cast on the edge of destruction, the Redeemer shall appear? Tell me that some moments are not magic then.
     Tell me that the times you wish would never end are no longer there. Tell me that all the times you laughed out of sheer delight do not mean anything anymore. Tell me that you are unloved, forgotten, neglected - and you never smile when a rainbow comes around after the rain. The magic moments are there. Just trust in God and your days will fill with magic moments.
     Sing hallelujah, we have been given blessing upon blessing. Shall we remember them?

Enchanted

There he is again.
Walking my way.
Only a few long strides between us.
Do I stay? Do I meet him?
It's unreal. The change within me.
What is it about him?
I hesitate and yet I want to run to meet him.
I am carried across the room with steps so light.
One moment on the far side,
the next moment face to face.
I ought to speak but no words come.
I remember the day we met.
He was just another handsome stranger.
I had no difficulty in talking then.
And when he left I thought nothing of him.
But he keeps coming back.
And now my days are filled with thoughts of him.
What does he see in me?
What goes through his mind when he looks my way?
I live in a world where a woman cannot trust.
Where she must be an Amazon and protect herself.
But that is not my life. Not what is right.
All my life I have been surrounded by protectors.
Men to lead and guide me.
My father and brother to trust in.
But to have one to call my own?
To have a stranger one day offer more
More than fealty and protection.
For him to offer support
and to love my independent spirit.
I have never been short of admirers and pursuers.
But I was told one day one would adore me.
Me? I who have ruined lives around me?
I who do not deserve a second glance?
I in my heart am like the prostitute Gomer.
I do not deserve a Hosea to love me.
I am always fleeting, never satisfied.
I am a Roxanne, desiring the intellect
yet falling for the pretty package.
Would God send a Cyrano my way
That I may be loved by greatness?
If such a blessing were to fall upon me,
I pray that I may not be too late to see it.
There he is again.
Walking my way.
He keeps coming back.