my ecclesiastes epiphany
The question expanded in my chest with each breath I've taken in this prairie air. Larger and larger and, coincidentally, more and more depressing. These disjointed thoughts which came to a head in one single question to my ever-patient husband:
Have you ever thought about how meaningless it all is?
It's taken so long to say this aloud because it seems wrong that things that seem to satisfy others don't satisfy me. Am I just a prideful snot, unimpressed by ideals that people have (even Christians...and especially politically conservative Christians) because the hearts of men are always depraved and things are never quite right? For years I've wondered why I leave a conversation with a friend unsatisfied because the topics go as far deep as which TV show is the juiciest. I love my husband {he is the best} but often I wonder why I (and so many Christians) put so much stock into this one relationship where we really just find out how selfish we really are. I wake up every morning unable to escape the question: what if Jon dies today? he could, you know. Marriage is great, but we will live, and one day die. And we hope that day of death will be later rather than sooner, but it will come. I wish more people were single. Sex is cool and all, but Christians make sex the actual epitome of their existence. Guys, you'll be just fine without it.
I'm happily married and here I am encouraging others to be celibate. Hmmph.
We dream of changing the world but do we realize that sometimes it takes a whole lifetime to change one life? I am support raising to be a missionary for heaven's sake, but I have read of (and experienced) the timing of God: usually slow, unexpected, unwanted and hurried by our impatient hearts. I see these things, I think about Hudson Taylor (a missionary to China), who never saw one person come to Christ (after his death, however, Christianity exploded), and yet no one wants to be the Hudson Taylor. We want to know that we changed a country. Our motivations are so tainted. We do the right thing to avoid being caught or not deal with our conscience. Our kindnesses are to make us feel good, our marriages are for mutual fulfillment, the roots of our greatest aspirations only go as deep as financial success, or to feel important or loved. Actually every deed we do is tainted by some form of self-fulfillment or pride.
Pointless.
Today in church our pastor quoted John Piper by saying, "God reigned far before you ever existed, and your existence doesn't change much." These words oddly brought me comfort: that the epitome of life actually isn't in me at all. Not in anything I think, or do, or say.
I find myself a modern-day Solomon of Ecclesiastes; doing things I love, like running, reading, practicing yoga, writing, and I catch myself thinking this is so unfulfilling. i like doing it, but it's so pointless. So pointless.
I've known for awhile that life, with its faulty map to a "fulfilling life" full of relationships, fashion, success, and some sort of spirituality is unfulfilling. But actually feeling it is different: the emptiness in our Facebook statuses that make our life seem perfect or funny or impressive, the worries in our heart despite a beautifully-filtered (or *gasp* unfiltered) sunset, the fact that you just spent $4 on that coffee you just posted, for no real reason at all. I guess this is judging, and if it is, I judge myself on this very same scale. No matter how perfect the situation may look or seem, it is a fleeting moment of happiness usually followed by pointlessness and meaninglessness. I've stopped caring about fashion (I used to be a hipster) and I see it as vain and completely irrelevant. (honestly most of the most Godly women I've met are some of the least fashionable) It is seriously meaningless and chasing after the wind. I need to read Ecclesiastes more deeply, I guess.
I am living, and soon (maybe even sooner than we think) will die. And so will you. And that inspiring tweet didn't change anyone's life and your impeccable fashion choices will be donated to Goodwill (if they aren't too out-of-style), your passport stamps will be thrown into the grave behind you, and no one will remember your waist size.
And it will be just you ushered to meet the Father who will either say He knew you or He didn't. And that most intregal part of ourselves is buried so deep underneath our hipster flannel and our coconut-oiled skin and our well-exercised heart that we often forget it is central.
It is the only thing. The only thing. THE ONLY THING that has any meaning whatsoever: do we know Him?
Even as I write, I am discouraged by the insufficiency of my own words, the futility of knowing most will read this and move on, unchanged at worst and inspired at best. But please know this: (maybe my depressiveness [this is the type of personality Jon and I have decided I have] will produce a tiny fruit in someone) nothing matters except Him.
Admit it, you feel it too. You must. I cannot be the only one. There is something inherently unsatisfying about this world.
So our only joy must come from outside of it. From the only not pointless One, who has given us purpose. Who somehow, despite our fumblings and idols and self-motivations still speaks through us and uses us to accomplish His purposes. Who miraculously infuses joy and fulfillment because He loves us furiously. Whose grand plan invites us to be extras in His story who point to Him alone.
Have you ever thought about how meaningless it all is?
It's taken so long to say this aloud because it seems wrong that things that seem to satisfy others don't satisfy me. Am I just a prideful snot, unimpressed by ideals that people have (even Christians...and especially politically conservative Christians) because the hearts of men are always depraved and things are never quite right? For years I've wondered why I leave a conversation with a friend unsatisfied because the topics go as far deep as which TV show is the juiciest. I love my husband {he is the best} but often I wonder why I (and so many Christians) put so much stock into this one relationship where we really just find out how selfish we really are. I wake up every morning unable to escape the question: what if Jon dies today? he could, you know. Marriage is great, but we will live, and one day die. And we hope that day of death will be later rather than sooner, but it will come. I wish more people were single. Sex is cool and all, but Christians make sex the actual epitome of their existence. Guys, you'll be just fine without it.
I'm happily married and here I am encouraging others to be celibate. Hmmph.
We dream of changing the world but do we realize that sometimes it takes a whole lifetime to change one life? I am support raising to be a missionary for heaven's sake, but I have read of (and experienced) the timing of God: usually slow, unexpected, unwanted and hurried by our impatient hearts. I see these things, I think about Hudson Taylor (a missionary to China), who never saw one person come to Christ (after his death, however, Christianity exploded), and yet no one wants to be the Hudson Taylor. We want to know that we changed a country. Our motivations are so tainted. We do the right thing to avoid being caught or not deal with our conscience. Our kindnesses are to make us feel good, our marriages are for mutual fulfillment, the roots of our greatest aspirations only go as deep as financial success, or to feel important or loved. Actually every deed we do is tainted by some form of self-fulfillment or pride.
Pointless.
Today in church our pastor quoted John Piper by saying, "God reigned far before you ever existed, and your existence doesn't change much." These words oddly brought me comfort: that the epitome of life actually isn't in me at all. Not in anything I think, or do, or say.
I find myself a modern-day Solomon of Ecclesiastes; doing things I love, like running, reading, practicing yoga, writing, and I catch myself thinking this is so unfulfilling. i like doing it, but it's so pointless. So pointless.
I've known for awhile that life, with its faulty map to a "fulfilling life" full of relationships, fashion, success, and some sort of spirituality is unfulfilling. But actually feeling it is different: the emptiness in our Facebook statuses that make our life seem perfect or funny or impressive, the worries in our heart despite a beautifully-filtered (or *gasp* unfiltered) sunset, the fact that you just spent $4 on that coffee you just posted, for no real reason at all. I guess this is judging, and if it is, I judge myself on this very same scale. No matter how perfect the situation may look or seem, it is a fleeting moment of happiness usually followed by pointlessness and meaninglessness. I've stopped caring about fashion (I used to be a hipster) and I see it as vain and completely irrelevant. (honestly most of the most Godly women I've met are some of the least fashionable) It is seriously meaningless and chasing after the wind. I need to read Ecclesiastes more deeply, I guess.
I am living, and soon (maybe even sooner than we think) will die. And so will you. And that inspiring tweet didn't change anyone's life and your impeccable fashion choices will be donated to Goodwill (if they aren't too out-of-style), your passport stamps will be thrown into the grave behind you, and no one will remember your waist size.
And it will be just you ushered to meet the Father who will either say He knew you or He didn't. And that most intregal part of ourselves is buried so deep underneath our hipster flannel and our coconut-oiled skin and our well-exercised heart that we often forget it is central.
It is the only thing. The only thing. THE ONLY THING that has any meaning whatsoever: do we know Him?
Even as I write, I am discouraged by the insufficiency of my own words, the futility of knowing most will read this and move on, unchanged at worst and inspired at best. But please know this: (maybe my depressiveness [this is the type of personality Jon and I have decided I have] will produce a tiny fruit in someone) nothing matters except Him.
Admit it, you feel it too. You must. I cannot be the only one. There is something inherently unsatisfying about this world.
So our only joy must come from outside of it. From the only not pointless One, who has given us purpose. Who somehow, despite our fumblings and idols and self-motivations still speaks through us and uses us to accomplish His purposes. Who miraculously infuses joy and fulfillment because He loves us furiously. Whose grand plan invites us to be extras in His story who point to Him alone.
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