YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN

There are times when I sit down to write this blog, and I wonder why I do.  What force drives me to cough up a couple of hours to say things that maybe two other people read. 
Writing is my voice. 
I don't have a natural charisma like my younger brothers, and I don't come across well in conversations.  I'm not physically attractive, so there is no reason for anyone to believe I have anything valuable to say.  I'm kind of like those sparrows who keep calling out in vain for someone to pay attention to them.  However, as I sit at my computer, I can imagine people nodding in approval as they read my words. I probably will never hear someone say; "Yes, David is a wise, educated man, worthy of honors far above his station in life."    Nah, I don't think so.
From the time I was in the sixth grade, writing has been my release.  When I was a youngster it was a release from the hurt, and anger I felt toward the mean kids who teased me day in, and day out.  You would not like to read those words today.  I don't even like to think that I wrote them.  If I were a student today, they would have me locked away.  Still, that time helped me to lay hold of my feelings, and process them.  I could do all the damage I wanted in my 'fantasy' life without really hurting anyone. 
Eventually, I came to accept my 'uniqueness' and find peace with the God who put that weight upon me.  Yes, I blamed Him. I talked about it to Him all the time!  I raged, I cried, I screamed, but most of all I wrote.  Till one day, people began to read my stuff, and they liked it.  WOW!  What a rush!   I discovered that words were powerful things.  From that time forward, I've written almost every day of my life.  I looked for avenues to release the words within me.  I have computer files that are almost thirty years old.  Now, I write out of an inner compulsion I can't explain.  My time on this vale is drawing to a close.  I can see the end now.  It doesn't bother me other than the fear I think all of us dread which is; I don't want to be forgotten. 
As part of my nature, I also like to do genealogy.  There is something exciting to finding the people who made me...me.  As I find a new relative in the obscurity of the past, I reach up, place my finger on their name and say; "You are not forgotten."  It means something for me to do that.  I have a relative from the early 1700's that no one can agree on her name.  They can't find a birth date, nor any of our family tree agree on even her first name.  The census taker who wrote it down, didn't have very good penmanship.  Every time I stop on her name I feel a sorrow for her.  She was someone's daughter, a father's joy, a mother's hope, and most of all she had dreams, and a life well lived.  She bore ten children into this world, and they carried her forward with them.  Yet, less than 300 years later, I can't find out with confidence who she was.  She didn't write blogs, she wasn't a journalist, and she didn't do anything I know of that was of any historic value, other than making ten children.  I want to be able to put my finger on her name and say; "you are not forgotten."  BUT, she is.  I would like to know if she was a great pie maker as many of the women are in her lineage.  I would like to know if she loved her husband, my fourth great grandfather.  Did she go to church on Sunday?  Was she kind, and tender like my grandmother was?  Did she have hopes and dreams beyond being a wife, and a mother? 
There is one thing I know.  Jesus said that not one sparrow falls to the ground that God doesn't know about.  We can know one thing above all else, and that is if God cares for sparrows so much that He knows when they die, then if no one else remembers me, God does.  He'll be there when I pass through the veil of this life into eternity, and he'll tell me; "You are not forgotten." 

ALIVE

There are times I say things out of habit I wish I wouldn't say.  Most of my habitual speech is a product of over fifty years of being a Christian.  A good portion of that speech isn't found in the bible, but grew in Christian circles because it sounded good.  The other day I was talking to a friend of over 20 years when I suddenly realized how cliche I'd become.  Out of habit, he asked me how I was doing.  I have a small group of answers I use based upon who I'm talking to.  Some of them are cute, some of them are dull, and some of them are MEANT to be spiritual. 
"Praise God, I woke up alive and breathing, so I guess I'm doing good."  I replied. 
As soon as I said it I felt pricked in my heart.  Don't get me wrong, I've said something like this for a good portion of my life.  I remember hearing it for the first time as a teenager from an evangelist who said that anytime you wake up in the morning, you are blessed.  So, I've wrapped it up in my own special flavoring and done many different variations on that theme.  This time, I was stopped in my tracks.  There was so much wrong with what I'd said.  I stumbled around for a few seconds trying to figure out what I'd just done, and mostly to listen to Holy Spirit to tell me why He'd elbowed me in my spirit.  It only took a few more seconds, by which time I'm sure my friend was mystified by the look of confusion on my face.  My banter is usually fluid, easy, and quick.  Occasionally, I'll stumble around, but never over a greeting.  Suddenly I knew what I'd said glorified this life, and not the eternal life to which I place my hope. 
At 64 years of age, I am at the point in my life where my parents are nearing the end of their days.  Both of my wife's parents have passed on.  At one time, I had over thirteen aunts and uncles, now that list is down to four.  Three of my older cousins have passed this vale, and I don't know how long I have.  I'm not eager to die, nor do I believe this life is dreary enough to warrant departing by my own hand.  Yet, within me is the knowledge that I have a ticket to a better life, a different home, a brighter place, and a love greater than any I can ever know on this earth, and I've known love!
As Christians, I believe we can worship this life to the point that it becomes an idol.  We accumulate things that won't go in our coffins, we boast of our achievements that will be forgotten the moment we pass, and our money is more often spent on comfort than the needs of others.  These are the things that Christ warned us about.  We weren't supposed to make this place our home. 
A few years back someone I know lost their grandfather.  This simple man of God would go out every morning and walk about two miles out and then head back to his rural home.  This was his time of prayer.  It was when he chose to talk to Jesus.  One morning as he walked, and prayed, a vehicle struck him and he passed from life to life.  One moment he was talking with Jesus, and the next he was with Jesus.  While people were stunned by the suddenness of his death, and brokenhearted by their loss, he was celebrated for his life, and applauded into his glorious life. 
Another breath is simply more time to do the work I was purposed to do.  So, as my friend sat there wondering where I went in my brain, I remembered what my purpose was, and why my glib reply bugged me.
"I'm sorry for what I said."  I replied.  "I'm doing well, praise God, but someday, I'll be doing better."
I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad for hanging on to this life.  It is our nature to survive, and for our bodies to cling to life.  I begrudge no one the battle to live another day.  On the other hand, moving on isn't the end.  That is where the peace of God is. 
Sadly this morning, my lawn is quiet.  The chatter of sparrows hasn't started because the sun hasn't even turned the horizon a dark blue yet.  It won't rise for another hour and I am about to go to church.  I'll worship God for the life he's given me, and the eternal life I have through His Son, Jesus.  If I pass this vale today, then I'll wait for all of you who are my friends.  Well, maybe I won't wait.  I'll just see you there.