As humans, we are all so very similar. General rules, like favoring what directly concerns us, reminds us of ourselves, and can be shared, transcend each person’s individual lifespan. We all like to have a sense of belonging, even if we don’t define it very well. Throughout our lives, you see forces waging within a person, to be the same or rebel, to obey or charge off in a separate errand, to listen or to demand solutions.
From 100+ to before we’re even born, we can all be wounded. Loss, suffering, and pain are all so universal, but so many live it out as an isolated event. In young children that have to wait to have some one on one time with their parents to elders waiting on their children to visit, there is this sense of abandonment and the overwhelming desire to go home. Have you ever been towards the end of a really good cry, and from some strange place in your soul, ached to be somewhere you cant quite articulate? It is hard to inhabit the earth.
The other side of the coin, from joy to peace to satisfaction, giving, and contentment; who can do them justice with words? We yearn to extend the best moments and experiences of our lives, not sure why everything must end directly as we pass through it. For the old, what must it feel like to know that you will never be young again? For the young, what does it feel like to know that you will never understand safety as innocently as you did when you were still held in your parents arms? What about the knowledge that your children will never be young again, and you can never relive those lost moments? Or the feeling that you wasted your career? The desire to make things right long after those who hurt you are long gone? What do we do to face the deepest and most unsearchable desires of our hearts?
The solution in each of these scenarios isn’t a solution, really, it’s a promise. The hope found in safety. In knowing where your security is coming from. Having each of the things you loved be part of a greater picture. A home that you cant find anywhere here on earth. In Christ, and the promises he keeps.
We are all desperately searching for something no one can fully articulate, stirring most everyone from time to time, lost under layers of unmet expectations, not having the words for what just feels missing. How do you restore what was never first given? Can anyone of us find a way to get back to that place none of us has known? We run from one another and to the next one coming, looking for solution after fruitless solution, each one after his own snake oil. Where in all this scurrying is there rest or peace; the perspective of eternity?
None of us are truly alone, but even “alone”, so few people ask for help. So few embrace the lack of understanding that is the birthing place of faith. So many people condemn any kind of longing as either stupidity or a quest in vain.
I am not a fan of bitterness, friends. I would rather spend my life searching for a God who so many people think is dead than accept the misunderstanding that he doesn’t exist or doesn’t care. I would rather do all that I can to find him, because I’m certain that he is real. What else do I do with this vain life anyways? Before my existence gets swallowed up and replaced with treads of eraser, I would much rather enjoy the life I’m living and seek God with my entire heart.
By the end of 100 or so years, each and everyone of us here today will be dead and we will have an entirely new round of humans. Given the similarity of what relics mankind has left behind, I assume that there will be humans still seeking the same God at that time, if Christ hasn’t come back yet. My life is now. My story is here for this minute and however much longer. Should I worry about the mistakes I will make if I am lucky enough to be alive? It is all so fleeting anyways.
As in Ecclesiates 9:9; ESV: “Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your vain life that he has given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life and in your toil at which you toil under the sun.”
You may as well enjoy what you have been given.