Who came up with the cycle of life? Has God designed us to die? Can anyone tell me of one living thing this rule has no application for? Eternity is spoken of in a book that is “forever,” yet the theory can never be proven after death grabs hold of your carcass. In the end, are all these questions answered by faith?
I am not in the mood for some type of theological debate. I am too busy digging for answers. Searching has a way of taking deep breaths and I am a bit agitated by all who say they know. Really? You know? I don’t believe you.
I guess this is just venting. I guess all these questions are part of life’s experiences. I’m spinning in circles. I’ve thought about this from every angle and back around to the top of the mountains, to the depth of the oceans. All life ends in death. The knowledge gained by one should be passed to the next generation. If not, a life’s worth of experience is gone. What a small fraction is passed forward to someone who might be listening to the old, to the wise, to the dead.
Who gets to decide when your shift is over? Is it a bad decision and a driving accident? Is the master plan already set in stone and we have no choice in the matter? In all that we do, can any of our energy stop death from taking us to the grave? Exercise and eat right, death wins. Be a glutton, smoke dope, and destroy yourself with alcohol, death wins. Nothing can stop death from consuming the carcass. Eat, drink, and be merry; death still wins.
As I wrestle with the acceptance of death, I should write something about faith. I am angry. I hate this design. I hate this disappointment of losing a battle to death. The more I think about it, the more upset I am. Yet, I must face the fact.
I fear I will stand before the God of judgment and all my sins will be high-lighted on a great billboard and I will be exposed. The details of all my secret sins will surface like bubbles from the ocean. Who gets to peek at my shames? Who gets to mock me and call out the details of my transgression? What a shame I have become. Even in believing that the blood of Christ covers my sins I am still afraid of His judgment, yet sin. Maybe my great fear is death, while my heart continues to beat.
I only hope in one hope. I only believe in one mercy, one God , one Son, and one forgiveness. I am terrified to the point of respecting the Judge. I will not snicker at those in front of me in line and on trial. I will never flippantly mask my fears with a joke. Sober is a face of stone, knowing I am next in line to answer for my life. Look at the great sins of the world. One individual at a time decided a “choice,” and became separated from righteousness. Each stumble of mankind must be answered before the throne. The world has its way of influencing, but each person decides for themself how they are going to live.
In great fear I tremble before the King. My Brother–covered in blood– has taken the pain of what I should suffer. I picture myself bowed before the judgment seat, down on my knees, face to the floor. I can’t even look up or kiss the boot of the King. My rags are the righteousness of thinking I was proud. Now I am brought low in humility.
It is my Brother who tells me to stand and washes away the red stains of my sins. Naked I am clothed in His gowns, now the recipient of mercy. I find myself still asking, Is this what I believe? Is this the truth? Much more reflection is needed before I can answer.