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.

There's Something I Need You To Know

I'm not sure if this is a midlife crisis. I'm not sure if it is caused by my recent trip to Guatemala, along with another trip I'm making there in 3 weeks. I'm not sure if it is just wisdom that comes with closing in on 50 years of life. But I am gaining this deep sense that my life on this earth is truly just a wisp of air, and that my time here will be done soon, and that my life does not really matter.

I don't mean for that to sound morbid or for me to come out like a martyr. There is nothing sad about it at all. I think it is more a call for me to make every day count. It is an honest realization that I was not destined for this earth, I do not belong to this earth, and I will someday leave this earth behind. And when the day comes for me to leave, what difference will my presence have made?

You see, I am gaining a new sense of what this world is about. It is just a precursor for what lies beyond. Nothing here matters unless it is carried to the next life. My house, my car, my job, vacations, stuff, stuff and more stuff. It is all poo.

I want to live life selflessly. I want to be willing to take risks, knowing completely that I could lose everything. But also knowing that any stuff I lose is just poo anyway. The only thing that matters is did I make an impact on anyone at all? Did I point anyone at all to Jesus? Did I surrender all that I have? As in, all of it.

I want to surrender my comforts. I want to give up my cushy life, with my clean and comfortable car, and my well-paying job. I want to give up a nice house with nice furniture and nice air conditioning. I want to sacrifice a life filled with conveniences.

I want to live a life that points others to Jesus. I want to pour myself out completely so that others are drawn to Him. I want to become invisible so that He can be clearly seen.

I want all of those things to be true.

Yet, there is a war that wages inside. I want to be all of those things and do all of those things, but I can't. Because I find that I love my house and my car and my vacations and my well-paying job. I know that I love my conveniences and I love being near family and I love my comforts.  And I find that I hate that I love them so much. Because as long as I love those things so much, it just means I don't love Jesus completely.

Jesus doesn't ask us to give everything up. He only asks that we don't love anything more than Him. I'm working on that. I am working on loving Him only. It is a rugged path that I'm daring to travel.

My life here doesn't matter unless I make an impact on someone else's life for eternity. As long as I stay in this love affair with my stuff, I fear I am really only making an impact on my own life.

I think I need to break up. Dear John...