Monday, August 5, 2013

Cracked Windshield

I have a crack in my windshield. It started as a small chip sometime in late July 2012. Since that time, it has gradually spread out like a spider web in every direction until I can no longer see clearly at all.

The 'chip' was caused by my first trip to Guatemala. Upon my return my vision has grown more and more blurry. I no longer see life as I once did. And the weirdest part is that even though my windshield is cracked and my vision is blurred, I seem to be able to see more clearly than I have in all of my near-50 years!

I see now that all of this time I have been working to achieve the Great American Dream. My husband and I have worked hard to acquire a nicer house with a nicer yard in a nicer neighborhood with nicer furniture and nicer clothes and a nicer car to drive. And with every upgrade we have made in our lives I now see that we've just adjusted the handcuffs to be a little bit tighter. Every time we acquire more stuff, our burden pulls us down a little bit more.

I am becoming painfully aware of the amount of time it takes to maintain our glorious stuff. Time invested to take care of the yard so that it looks as nice as all of our neighbors.Time spent on washing the car, oil changes, maintenance, etc. Time for cleaning the house and doing laundry. Time that we spend watching a favorite show on our big screen TV or watching our most recent BluRay purchase. Countless hours spent shopping to get more stuff that we don't really need.

The Great American Dream makes me want to puke.

When my last breath is taken, not one single thing I've mentioned here is going to matter. It won't matter how nice or how big our house was. It won't matter if our lawn was the greenest and best manicured in the neighborhood. It won't matter if I wore new clothes. No one will remember if I drove a nice car and kept it clean. I won't be remembered for how many vacations I could afford. Not one person will care if my house was clean or if my furniture was modern. The amount of BluRays I own will not be listed in my obituary. I'm pretty sure my hairstyle or makeup or manicure will not matter once I'm gone.

So if none of those things matter, why do I spend so much time, effort and money on them? Why have I allowed the world to tell me what is important.

My heart is now speaking very loudly and telling me what is important. Life. My life. Other people's lives. Relationships. Ministry. Spending every allowable minute pouring into someone else's life. Making a difference for Jesus. Loving someone who feels unlovable. Teaching a skill that hasn't previously been available because of economic status.

I need a simpler life. I'm not foolish and I know it won't happen overnight. But I have a goal now. When I take my last breath, I hope to have almost zero worldly possessions. I can't take them where I'm headed anyway. I hope to have emptied myself of every ounce of love I have to give. I hope to have no balance in the checkbook and no existence of a savings account. I hope to have shared every bit of knowledge that I've been granted.  I hope that my name will long be forgotten as Jesus' name is remembered along the paths I have traveled. And as I hear myself draw in that last breath, I hope that the next thing I hear is, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

I am grateful for this cracked windshield. It has given me the clearest view I could ever hope for.