The year was 2010. Life was going along at a normal pace. Things weren’t spectacular, but they were normal. They were comfortable. And then, from nowhere, it seemed, there was suddenly talk of the end of the world.
How could the world be ending already? I know that the Bible tells us that “no man can know the hour or the day.” But the sources I was hearing from were credible as far as I knew. And those sources were quoting ancient sources. Apparently the Mayans had figured it out. The magic year was said to be 2012.
And then all went quiet again. Or maybe I just became more of a hermit than normal. Because, aside from the random comment (and terrible movie) nothing more was mentioned. But for me, that little bit of panic set itself in deep. As much as it hasn’t been talked about, I haven’t been able to forget.
I woke up yesterday and realized that 2011 is already half over. Could the world really be ending in six months to a year? I’m sorry to say, I’m not ready for the world to be over.
I have a list of things that I wanted to accomplish before my life ended, not to mention growing old and grey.
But now I find that in every decision I make, in every thought that I have, in the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if I have a year or less. When I babysit for my nephews, I find myself looking at them and grieving that they won’t get to experience high school or college. I wonder who they would have become if the world really was in front of them.
I purchased a car recently. While we were sitting there haggling the price, I was chuckling inside, thinking that it wasn’t going to matter where the price ended up. None of us were going to be around long enough to see all that money from me anyway.
I just can’t believe that it could all be over soon. In the last month, I have finally felt like I have figured out what the next piece of my life could be. I cannot describe the excitement I felt with that knowledge; only to potentially have it all crashing back down on me.
I want to go to heaven and spend eternity with God as much as the next good little Christian, but I am just not ready to leave this planet yet. I want all of the experiences that they say won’t matter when I cross the pearly gates. I want to know what it’s like to experience love. I actually want the heartbreak of my child screaming that they don’t love me. (Because in order to say that, their love and mine, has to be so deep.) I want the house and the picket fenced yard. I want the soccer van and the late night sicknesses. I want to pour so much of myself into someone else that I forget what having a life to myself felt like.
But I have received none of that. All I have to show for all the years I’ve spent here so far is a quiet and lonely apartment. All I have to show for trying to pour myself into my job is my boss declining my request for a raise and asking that I don’t work so much. He tells me it’s because he’s concerned for my health. I didn’t even have the courage to try home ownership or adoption on my own. I haven’t had the guts to really try putting myself out there; to risk falling in love with someone who didn’t love me back.
I’ve played my hand so safely, so quietly and now it could all be for naught. God doesn’t owe me a long life filled with the love and experiences I’ve longed for. I just can’t believe that I allowed fear to rule for so long, that I hid from the truth that was probably right in front of me; that I didn’t see the end coming before it was too late to change anything.
But, even if I did have more than a year to try and accomplish all that I want in life, would I do it? The sad truth is I probably wouldn’t. I’ve gotten so comfortable with life as I know it, that I wouldn’t know how to step out of this rut. I wouldn’t know how to make my life count for something. So, why shouldn’t the world end tomorrow?
How could the world be ending already? I know that the Bible tells us that “no man can know the hour or the day.” But the sources I was hearing from were credible as far as I knew. And those sources were quoting ancient sources. Apparently the Mayans had figured it out. The magic year was said to be 2012.
And then all went quiet again. Or maybe I just became more of a hermit than normal. Because, aside from the random comment (and terrible movie) nothing more was mentioned. But for me, that little bit of panic set itself in deep. As much as it hasn’t been talked about, I haven’t been able to forget.
I woke up yesterday and realized that 2011 is already half over. Could the world really be ending in six months to a year? I’m sorry to say, I’m not ready for the world to be over.
I have a list of things that I wanted to accomplish before my life ended, not to mention growing old and grey.
But now I find that in every decision I make, in every thought that I have, in the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if I have a year or less. When I babysit for my nephews, I find myself looking at them and grieving that they won’t get to experience high school or college. I wonder who they would have become if the world really was in front of them.
I purchased a car recently. While we were sitting there haggling the price, I was chuckling inside, thinking that it wasn’t going to matter where the price ended up. None of us were going to be around long enough to see all that money from me anyway.
I just can’t believe that it could all be over soon. In the last month, I have finally felt like I have figured out what the next piece of my life could be. I cannot describe the excitement I felt with that knowledge; only to potentially have it all crashing back down on me.
I want to go to heaven and spend eternity with God as much as the next good little Christian, but I am just not ready to leave this planet yet. I want all of the experiences that they say won’t matter when I cross the pearly gates. I want to know what it’s like to experience love. I actually want the heartbreak of my child screaming that they don’t love me. (Because in order to say that, their love and mine, has to be so deep.) I want the house and the picket fenced yard. I want the soccer van and the late night sicknesses. I want to pour so much of myself into someone else that I forget what having a life to myself felt like.
But I have received none of that. All I have to show for all the years I’ve spent here so far is a quiet and lonely apartment. All I have to show for trying to pour myself into my job is my boss declining my request for a raise and asking that I don’t work so much. He tells me it’s because he’s concerned for my health. I didn’t even have the courage to try home ownership or adoption on my own. I haven’t had the guts to really try putting myself out there; to risk falling in love with someone who didn’t love me back.
I’ve played my hand so safely, so quietly and now it could all be for naught. God doesn’t owe me a long life filled with the love and experiences I’ve longed for. I just can’t believe that I allowed fear to rule for so long, that I hid from the truth that was probably right in front of me; that I didn’t see the end coming before it was too late to change anything.
But, even if I did have more than a year to try and accomplish all that I want in life, would I do it? The sad truth is I probably wouldn’t. I’ve gotten so comfortable with life as I know it, that I wouldn’t know how to step out of this rut. I wouldn’t know how to make my life count for something. So, why shouldn’t the world end tomorrow?
