There comes a time, when in the midst of the whirl of excitement, you stop and realize that time has not done the same… that it has continued to tally the months, weeks, days, and hours, even though you seemed to have turned your back on its progress. You no longer heard the ticking of the clock, and yet, it peeled forth the call of its determinate pace. It sauntered on, steadily, as your eyes carefully avoided its gaze. It is in that moment that you turn and see the memories that have come together to make the present what it is. There have been times of joy and moments of pain. Hours of trial gave way to seasons of triumph as bitter tears mingled with a hopeful smile. You see the people who have entered your life and have changed it in ways you never thought possible. You are enveloped in a feeling of perfect belonging as you explore each impression they have left on your heart. Suddenly, a chill creeps into your thoughts. Once more, you are brought to an awareness of the clock’s faithful toll. Although you stopped to revel in the memory of the past months, weeks, days, and hours it has not. Onward the hands march in their rigid annular course. It is in this moment, as perfect as it is, that you realize, that nothing will ever be quite the same.
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“Don’t count every hour in the day, make every hour in the day count.”
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Surrender
The corridors of time are lined on either side with doors yet unopened. My mind frequently wanders down hall after hall, as far as the eye can see, scanning the scene in curiosity.
At all times, within my hand lies a single key. It is fashioned to fit only one door out of innumerable others, and once that door is entered, there is no return.
To some, this fact would seem daunting. How does one choose which door to enter with no knowledge of what will be met on the other side?
In truth, it was never meant for me to know what lies beyond each of these doors, nor the possibilities that exist ahead. Instead, I have been offered the guidance and aid of the One who has gone before. He who knows the way will lead.
And so, I follow. At the first, I saunter warily behind as He leads me to one dark door, draped in shadows, beyond the scope of the light. Fear sweeps over me as He prompts me to approach the threshold. A rigid cold radiates from the very pores of the door's wooden frame, sending my senses into a panic, yet He directs me to turn the key.
In one fluid motion, the latch is loosened. Slowly, He lays His hand upon the warped planking and begins to gently drive it on its hinges. A sliver of light begins to appear and steadily grows in brilliance, until I must bring my hand to my brow.
My Guide extends His arm, inviting me through the doorway. Decidedly, I step across the threshold, entering another corridor. This too is lined with doors, all unopened. Yet I am not met by the same doubts and suspicions as in the previous hall. Here the light shines brighter, the air feels warmer, and the way a little smoother.
In entering the door from which I have just come, I willingly follow the direction of my Lord, pledging to succeed Him all along the way. Now, although the same progression of hard wooden door frames and iron gates are met, they are draped in the soft veil of hope.
No door lies beyond His sight, and so I follow with confidence, as onward, my Guide continues. Where He will lead next, I do not know, but as I turn to view once more where I have been, I notice some writing above the door from which I have just come. In blazing marks inscribed in scarlet lettering, I discern the door's title... Surrender.
At all times, within my hand lies a single key. It is fashioned to fit only one door out of innumerable others, and once that door is entered, there is no return.
To some, this fact would seem daunting. How does one choose which door to enter with no knowledge of what will be met on the other side?
In truth, it was never meant for me to know what lies beyond each of these doors, nor the possibilities that exist ahead. Instead, I have been offered the guidance and aid of the One who has gone before. He who knows the way will lead.
And so, I follow. At the first, I saunter warily behind as He leads me to one dark door, draped in shadows, beyond the scope of the light. Fear sweeps over me as He prompts me to approach the threshold. A rigid cold radiates from the very pores of the door's wooden frame, sending my senses into a panic, yet He directs me to turn the key.
In one fluid motion, the latch is loosened. Slowly, He lays His hand upon the warped planking and begins to gently drive it on its hinges. A sliver of light begins to appear and steadily grows in brilliance, until I must bring my hand to my brow.
My Guide extends His arm, inviting me through the doorway. Decidedly, I step across the threshold, entering another corridor. This too is lined with doors, all unopened. Yet I am not met by the same doubts and suspicions as in the previous hall. Here the light shines brighter, the air feels warmer, and the way a little smoother.
In entering the door from which I have just come, I willingly follow the direction of my Lord, pledging to succeed Him all along the way. Now, although the same progression of hard wooden door frames and iron gates are met, they are draped in the soft veil of hope.
No door lies beyond His sight, and so I follow with confidence, as onward, my Guide continues. Where He will lead next, I do not know, but as I turn to view once more where I have been, I notice some writing above the door from which I have just come. In blazing marks inscribed in scarlet lettering, I discern the door's title... Surrender.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Adversity's Bloom
It is rough and rutty, this rod I carry. It is lifeless and cold. Its splinters snag like spurs as I grasp it in my hand, yet it cannot be released. My hands, though once smooth and supple, have now been calloused and warped by the thorns of this bitter stake, called Adversity.
I cannot see the rugged terrain beneath my feet, and so I clamber over hollows and hurdles, scattered along the way, holding the rod as far from my body as my outstretched arms can bear. Step by step, I continue, my rod's weight increasing with every step taken.
For a while, out of stubborn disdain, I continue trying to avoid the hurt caused by Adversity's spiteful shards. I scoff at the sight of it, which serves only as a reminder of the hindrance it presents.
I have been told, however, that it is necessary, that I cannot complete the task ahead without it. That soon, I will change this gore for glory. I have been assured that I may trust the One from Whose Hand it came. The ache, the throb, the sting... each is working together for a good that I cannot yet see.
Increasingly, I become weary of carrying on. In hopeless contempt, I hang my head as with one step, I am brought nearly to my knees in despair. My despondent heart is giving out, yet, almost instinctively, I thrust the rod's foot to the ground, bearing down on it with all of my weight.
When brought close and embraced, the rod I had struggled to bear now offers support as I rise once more to my worn feet. Although, at once, I had seen it only as an instrument of pain, Adversity now brings peace.
Suddenly, a new appreciation overwhelms me. I see this rod as an opportunity for triumph rather than torture. I step forward, and although the weight of the rod is still felt, it no longer poses a limitation. With every twinge of pain, a new strength is found, giving hope and courage for the step that follows.
In wonder, I examine the rod beneath me, it's twisted form reminding me of my wrenched heart. My eyes pool with tears as I discover, carefully tucked away within the notches and knots of my rod, a single, solitary bud.
I cannot see the rugged terrain beneath my feet, and so I clamber over hollows and hurdles, scattered along the way, holding the rod as far from my body as my outstretched arms can bear. Step by step, I continue, my rod's weight increasing with every step taken.
For a while, out of stubborn disdain, I continue trying to avoid the hurt caused by Adversity's spiteful shards. I scoff at the sight of it, which serves only as a reminder of the hindrance it presents.
I have been told, however, that it is necessary, that I cannot complete the task ahead without it. That soon, I will change this gore for glory. I have been assured that I may trust the One from Whose Hand it came. The ache, the throb, the sting... each is working together for a good that I cannot yet see.
Increasingly, I become weary of carrying on. In hopeless contempt, I hang my head as with one step, I am brought nearly to my knees in despair. My despondent heart is giving out, yet, almost instinctively, I thrust the rod's foot to the ground, bearing down on it with all of my weight.
When brought close and embraced, the rod I had struggled to bear now offers support as I rise once more to my worn feet. Although, at once, I had seen it only as an instrument of pain, Adversity now brings peace.
Suddenly, a new appreciation overwhelms me. I see this rod as an opportunity for triumph rather than torture. I step forward, and although the weight of the rod is still felt, it no longer poses a limitation. With every twinge of pain, a new strength is found, giving hope and courage for the step that follows.
In wonder, I examine the rod beneath me, it's twisted form reminding me of my wrenched heart. My eyes pool with tears as I discover, carefully tucked away within the notches and knots of my rod, a single, solitary bud.
Irony
Courage sees Risk, and nods in acknowledgment of its presence. But Courage attributes to Risk no authority, power, or strength, for it possesses none of its own. Risk is nothing but the possibility of losing a thing that is not firmly ours to begin with, for if it were firmly ours, there would be no Risk of loss.
It is true that unless we are willing to face Risk, and therefore the possibility of permanent loss, we have already forfeited all that we might have gained.
There is a line that must be crossed; that line is Risk. Without crossing it, I remain where I am; where I am, there is no hope of progress. When once I cross that line, however, progress suddenly becomes a potential reality. This potential reality, the possibility of success is, in truth, inherent to Risk, just as is the danger of failure.
Courage nods to Risk, and steps forward, while here I stand, staring at this line.
It is true that unless we are willing to face Risk, and therefore the possibility of permanent loss, we have already forfeited all that we might have gained.
There is a line that must be crossed; that line is Risk. Without crossing it, I remain where I am; where I am, there is no hope of progress. When once I cross that line, however, progress suddenly becomes a potential reality. This potential reality, the possibility of success is, in truth, inherent to Risk, just as is the danger of failure.
Courage nods to Risk, and steps forward, while here I stand, staring at this line.
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