As I sit in my wingchair this morning, the sun faithfully rising, it's rays peeking through the window blinds, I am again compelled to write, gripped by both the beauty and the brevity of life.
You see, sitting before me are boxes of belongings and documents, remnants of two lives now passed, lives cared for by my wife and I during their last days on earth.
One a parent, the other a dear friend and former neighbor who died without offspring, her husband killed suddenly in an accident.
My wife is now strategically sorting through boxes stored in our attic for tax purposes, both estates long settled.
Behind all of that is the reality that we too will one day pass, thus we have begun our own sorting of items too easily collected, stored in a large attic over our lifetime. Downsizing may be a less threatening term.
My decades of journaling and now several books written are my own means of sorting the "attic" between my ears, the place where my thoughts and life learnings have been stored.
It poses a stark reality when the final keepsakes of ninety plus years can be consolidated in one small box, taped shut for posterity, just in case someone might find value. Some of these items represent emotions too deep for their immediate discard, though likely inevitable.
Perhaps these blog posts serve a similar purpose, a means of boxing up my most precious thoughts, a disciplined downsizing of my numerous life experiences, retaining those most thought provoking.
In these moments of musing, the occasional recall of some otherwise lost wisdom, long trapped in the attic of my head. As well, their combined content, the resource for the next book, also lokely, a means of therapy given the challenges in our day! Better yet, a treasure for a great- grandchild that I'll never meet!
However, my desire extends far beyond immediate family, as we humans are truly "one in the bonds of love!" Love is the connective tissue of the human community, something so lost to us that words like this seem mushy, trite, even corny.
Yes, our souls are independent, yet our callings crucial to each other, each of us with unique assignments. We are distinct, never again assigned "pieces" of God, His very intimate womb-work, though our journeys somehow providentially conjoined, shaping and assuring each new generation.
In these latter years, I desire to be fully used up when I die. Humility is to be desired, but your life matters, and if you can describe your life purpose without sounding arrogant, you are living beneath your calling!
This is your day, your personal contribution to history, unpack your piece! You matter now, to many, and to the destiny of scores to come!
Still struggle as to what my contribution to history will be.
I can relate we had a yard sale Saturday