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Have you ever woken up first thing in the morning and realized you were in a museum?
And you were what was on display?
You may not have recognized the location at first because everything seemed so real. You were traveling through one mental display after another of your past life.
Names.
Faces.
Feelings.
Friends.
Sometimes the scenes are wistful and happy reminders of people and days gone by. Sometimes you’re reliving the glory days. But sometimes it plays out more like a horror movie or a disaster cleanup. It’s ugly – and you’re the reason.
It may be a new day on the outside, but in here you’re trapped in the old ones. [click to continue…]
How do you want to be remembered?
By what you did? What you said? Who and how you loved? What you accomplished or overcame?
That may or may not happen.
I was chatting with someone yesterday about the idea of legacy – one of those Five Laws of LifeVesting. He asked me to clarify what I meant and how people leave legacies after their time on earth is done. I said that legacy has two parts – the intentional and the unplanned.
There are some things I want to be remembered for, and I take action to make those memories while I still have a chance by investing my life in things that will live on after me. This is why people give money, write things, do art or music, or make memories with people, just to name a few.
But your legacy has a life of its own, and you’re making memories all the time, whether you realize it or not. Some of those are pretty routine. Some are painful. Some are glorious, and you don’t even know it.
Two days ago I got an email from Gotta-Love-Google-Land. It came from somebody I knew in my very first church staff position, 33 years ago. The message, framed with “thank you,” contained some profound memories. What was interesting, though, was what all those memories had in common. [click to continue…]
(The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 6: The Way of Reflection)
“Livie, why did you teach Lit?” Katie asked her grandmother, eyes rolling with attitude.
“Because I wanted to teach high school kids, and they made me pick a subject,” the bright-eyed woman said with confidence. “Anyway, they already had a football coach.”
Olivia Driver opened the door to her guest room, parted the curtains, and opened the blinds to let the morning sunlight in. Though it was early, her straight, silver hair looked beautifully radiant, as always. Her trim frame and purposeful pace revealed an energy that defied her 78 years. Olivia was on a mission. Today she had planned (she always had a plan) to get the boxes and paper from the closet and start wrapping gifts. This would be a Christmas to remember. All her children and grandchildren would be there, along with those three adorable great-grands.
And this would be Olivia Driver’s last Christmas at her home of 34 years.
January would bring changes, and it was all Olivia’s doing. Four years after her husband’s death, she had decided to sell the house and move to a nearby retirement/assisted care community. She had already completed a thorough inventory, planned an estate sale, tagged the furniture and other items she would move with her, and scheduled the move-in. Only one keep-or-toss decision remained for this retired Literature teacher. And in the streaming sunlight, it caught her eye.
There at the foot of the bed was a large cedar chest, covered by a beautifully-crocheted afghan. Throughout her grandchildren’s younger years, Livie (that’s what they called her) had invited them to explore the Chest of Wonder. [click to continue…]
“I’m not a smart man – but I know what love is.”
-Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump
Attending a Christian worship service is a very different kind of experience for many different kinds of people. For me on most weekends, it’s Game Day. All hands on deck. Because of the responsibilities I have, it’s something of a 90-minute rehearsal taking place in my brain – rehearsing sermon points, announcements, and service order points that will unfold in a matter of seconds – all under the theme, “What comes next?”
This weekend was no different in that regard. We had three services with lots of moving parts, and I was tracking with all of them. And yet for reasons I have yet to understand, I was surprised to find my heart stirred by special faces in distant places. I found myself so aware – so drawn – so surprised by love – at one point during one of the offertories, all I could do is sit there and weep.
In short, I was beautifully startled by the people who attended the services in my West Texas church this weekend. [click to continue…]
Have you ever woken up first thing in the morning and realized you were in a museum?
