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Despite all those feelings above (and trust me, I do believe in self-care lol), that as a believer and as a Christ-follower, didn’t I ask to be used? Didn’t He lay down His life for me? Don’t I desire to be like Jesus? To hang out and to love those who aren’t perfect and daily make mistakes (hello, that’s me)? I’ve spent little time in the Word this year, but the few times I’ve been able to spend some time doing so, it is always a reminder that damn, it’s not about me.
Eternal Minds
"For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city to come." Hebrews 13:14
I remember one of the first conversations Dorothy and I had was about eternity. I didn't know her well at all, and I'll admit I was trying a little bit to impress her with some good conversational skills. At the very least, I wanted her to know what I was about, and I certainly didn't want to be about small talk. I wanted her to see that on the top of my list of cares, I cared about things above.
I was talking about my thoughts on heaven, what heaven will be like when we get there. I don't remember exactly how it came up in conversation, but I was sharing how I have this picture of heaven in my head where every believer is sitting at a round table that fits us all, and we each take a turn to tell our life story, sharing who we were on earth, how Jesus saved us, and not neglecting any important details. As each person shared, slowly every believer present would start to see how all our lives connected and intersected. We would see how one thing we did affected another, until the very end. I imagine this would bring up plenty of extra side discussions as these realizations happen, and of course this would take a very long time, but that would be okay because we have eternity.
an Author loves details.
Some of my fondest memories of my dad came from the times we had working together. I grew up going to jobsites with him as soon as I was old enough to know how to run a vacuum. The time I spent working with him steadily grew as my skill grew in holding a paintbrush, wielding a roller, and running sanding machines. Eventually, after high school, I was working for him full-time. It was the best way to make money...any other job couldn't pay as well.
Stolen
I had been living in Rainier Valley for a little over a year. I had heard stories about several of my friends' cars being stolen...but it had never happened to me. I had this arrogant mentality, thinking that I was the exception to the rule, so I never locked my truck doors. Besides, who would want to take a 40 year-old truck? Especially one that is bright blue and can't go over 70 mph?
It was in the middle of the week, and as I walked out to the driveway to leave for work in the morning, I stopped as I didn't see my truck. "Did I park it in the back last night?" I jogged to the back of my house, peeking around the corner of my fence looking for a hint of blue. Nope. Nothing. "What in the world? What did I do last night?" I definitely did nothing. I know I parked it in the driveway, which could only mean one thing...somebody took my ol' Datsun. A small feeling of panic rose in my throat as my heart beat faster. I called my boss first; I told him my truck was stolen, I don't think it could've gone far, and I would keep him updated as soon as it's found, but I probably would miss work that day. I called the police next, told them my truck was stolen and gave them all my details. I ran inside because I knew my roommate Kyle was still home, and I could probably borrow his car to drive around and look for it. No one knows that truck like I do. No one can drive it (well, if at all) except for me.
