Friday, October 25, 2013

Faithful Friday: This Mundane, Murderous Life

I'm convinced there are two lives, twirled together in a path that is our past, present, and future. First, there is this mundane, murderous life intent on driving you ever onward unto death. You don't get a choice about this life. You contract into it by being born, and the only termination clause--the inevitable termination clause--is death.

And the kicker is this: This life seems wantonly intent on getting you to that end while depriving you of as much wonder, joy, and magic along the way as possible. The cycle of bills due every month; the never-ending chore of washing dishes or laundry; feelings that you're not quite right for the social group, the job, or the dream; feelings of being trapped or downtrodden or grey-washed in a world of diminished hues--these are the calling cards of the mundane.

When those cards aren't enough to deprive you of the joy inherent in being, this murderous life piles on coughs and aches, doctor's visits and hospital stays, tears and groans, deception and heartache, disappointment and fear.

This mundane life piles it on, up to your eyes, until you no longer see the world around you through the dirty dishes, the need to fix dinner, the soccer games, the bills to pay, the constant worry, the fear of future, and the seemingly endless, pointless, unforgiving demands on your time. . . on your thoughts. . . on your wallet. . . on your mind. . . on your heart. . . on your soul.

You lose site of hope.

You begin to crumple under the weight.

Certainly, this is the moment. You'll break. You'll give up. This mundane life will win--you've been driven to the inevitable end.

And it's at this moment that you make a choice--a choice you may make over and over again until you reach that inevitable physical end. It's the choice about the second life.

Whether you contract with this second life is up to you. Some will tell you there's no cost for this second life--they'll say a Savior paid it long, long ago. And while it's true that He paid the admission price for your entrance into this second life, it's not true that there isn't a cost.

This second life wants you to surrender something. It wants you to surrender that other life--the mundane, murderous life intent on driving you toward death.

In return, you don't necessarily get respite from the everyday--there are still the dishes, the bills, the aches, the disappointment. But woven through it all, there are miracles and wonder and love and joy and unbelievable truths that you glimpse as through the gentle shuffle of a curtain in the breeze.

And if, perchance, you get buried to your eyes again in the mundane, this other life--the miraculous, wonderful life--sends you a reminder. Don't believe that's true? Shove aside the dishes, the daily commitments, the worry for tomorrow and look. Look at a butterfly floating on a summer breeze. Look at the patchwork of autumn leaves against the blue sky. Look at the gaze of a baby's eyes.

Look. Do. Feel. Learn. Love. Experience. Break out of the mundane, if only for a moment. Peer through the curtains and into the world that was created for you--into the life you were supposed to live. And try your hardest to live it. Someone created that life for you, and He's waiting to bring you into it. Take his hand. He'll lead the way.

And in the end, when this mundane, murderous life-contract comes to a close, there's an addendum--written in blood--that cracks the everyday shell built up around your soul and sets you, finally, free.

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