So I'm re-reading Nouwen's "In the Name of Jesus."
I sat on my couch one evening in the dark, fast forwarding a tape. As the casette advanced, the numbers on my stereo rapidly counted up from 0000 to 0005, then 0027 (the year of Christ’s baptism), then 0034 (the end of the 70 weeks), then 0095 (Revelation penned on Patmos), then quickly to 0538 . . . 0695 . . . 1310 . . . and before I knew it the stereo was counting right past 1844 and 1863. Only a minute later it was at 1922 (my grandfather’s birth), then 1957 (my mother’s birth), then 1983—the year of my own birth. And in 6 seconds I was moving from Idaho to California with pneumonia. Seven seconds after that it was 1996 and I was coming into the faith and rearranging my life around Christ. A mere 10 seconds later it was 2006 and I was sitting on my couch one evening in the dark, fast forwarding a tape.
Life moves so quickly.
I am 26 years old, but I find myself often preoccupied with thoughts of death and the transience of life. I don’t think that it is an unhealthy thing to be thinking about. The reality is that unless the Lord intervenes with His advent, I’ll live through maybe 70 or 80 winters and summers (or fewer, perhaps, should an accident or disease overtake me). It’s not an awfully long time, actually. Not long at all.
Nouwen says, “I came face to face with the question, ‘Did becoming older bring me closer to Jesus?’” The question is so painful. I think the pain originates in a place of regret. I have been following the Lord for 10 years now . . . why am I not closer to Him? Because though the years seem to pass with increasing rapidity, this year and last year and every year before it is made up of the same simple building blocks: months, weeks, days, hours, minutes. Moment by moment they pass through our hands into the past. Time moves at the same speed for all creatures. So to ask the question, “Has becoming older brought me closer to Jesus?” and to hear the reply in mournful tones, “Not nearly close enough,” is to recognize wasted hours and days for what they are.
The mourning for what has been lost—opportunity with Christ, for Christ, in Christ—is not much soothed by outward success. Only if we move quickly enough to avoid any introspection will praise and recognition make us feel good about a life that has been spent ignoring our Lord. This is why Nouwen was unsatisfied, even though “everyone was saying that I was doing well.” And it’s why I feel unsatisfied, too.
“Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Moses, in Psalm 90:12.
My husband and I have this game.
We're not always playing it... and yet we are. The goal is to be as stealthy as possible, to be wily and artful and devious, to really sneak up on the other person, and when they least expect it, express your heartfelt love!
Recent ploys have gone something like this:
"I don't know if you had heard... I was reading this online today and I love you."
"Hey! I know you're tired right now and you just settled in, but I needed to ask you something important, something you might not want to hear, but it's important to me. [Serious silence.] Who do I love?" He knows the routine: "You love me!" And I always reply, "That's right, Joshi. I love you. You're the only one for me."
"Honey!! What time is it?!? I just remembered-- I love you!"
"Ugh. I have such a headache right now. Would you do me a favor? [as he reaches for my water glass] Could you tell me who I love?" Yeah, and then we have the same conversation: "You love me!" "That's right. I love you. You're the only one for me."
Winner and loser? Well, I think we're tied :)
Kessia Reyne, Judge of All
A very strange thing happened to me today. It was disconcerting and wonderful.
I had been judging my friend. Like, rolling my eyes and scoffing at him from the back of my throat. I like him, I respect him, I think he's cool. But I was judging him, narrowing my blue eyes at his Brazilian face. Sometimes when we were together, and sometimes when we were not, I would take out a new label and slap it on him.
"critical" "cynical"
"suspicious"
"disciple of so-and-so" "Narrow"
Then today he challenged me. "Don't judge me." I defended myself. I told him that I wasn't judging him. I told him that I was just listening to what he was saying, I was just observing what he was doing. I told him that I saw him becoming like this certain professor, that I heard him and his friend talking about one thing or another... I usually "win" at these sorts of "discussions." But he pushed back. He defended himself. Our eyes flashed. Our swords clashed. Our words met and punched it out.
And in the end, he was right. I had been judging him, and unfairly so.
I was accusing him of being cynical and critical and judgmental. But in judging him I was being cynical and critical and judgmental.
Dangit. Sorry, Tiago.