treasure.
We walk a fine line by living in the moment. Elders tell us to enjoy the journey. Friends encourage us to stop and smell the roses. Historians tell us to learn from the past—technologists say we should find hope in the future. But it is here, now, that often gives me the most trouble.
Just outside my door I found a small spider in the midst of a giant web. She must have spent all night—invested more energy than she could afford in building a home for herself. And now, she is resting. Living in the moment. Soaking in the glory of the silky mansion she has just built for herself.
We build mansions for ourselves, too. My closet, for one—full of more clothes than I could ever wear. And yet, this morning I showed up to class in sweatpants. It is my mansion. As if I am somehow judged by how spotless and wrinkle-free I present myself; as if it makes part of who I am. My bookshelf, another prime example. The textbooks sit there. Unopened. Unused. Un-learned-from. And yet, I continue to build my collection. With the hopes that someday osmosis might set in and my brain might suddenly be filled with pleasant banks of knowledge. And there are other people who literally DO building mansions for themselves. And there they sit. Behind streak-free windows. Atop hills and at oceansides. Basking in the glory of themselves, soaking in the accomplishment of what they have built.
Each mansion, whatever it may be, is an investment. Clothing. Books. Houses. Even worry, homework, cooking. And somehow, each in their own unique way pumps up our egos, gives us hope for the future. A future we are uncertain we’ll even have.
So today I am looking beyond the future. Beyond tomorrow. Beyond next week and next month. Focusing on eternity. Where God has built a mansion for us. A place where simply being in His presence is more satisfying than clothes and books and earthly houses. A place where homework doesn’t bring guilt, where board scores don’t matter, and where egos are broken by humility.
I’m placing my hope in that future. The only future I can be certain of. Because I can’t know what tomorrow will bring. In fact, no one can.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth & rust destroy, and where thieves break in & steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heave, where moth & rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in & steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” –Matthew 6:19-21
Just outside my door I found a small spider in the midst of a giant web. She must have spent all night—invested more energy than she could afford in building a home for herself. And now, she is resting. Living in the moment. Soaking in the glory of the silky mansion she has just built for herself.
We build mansions for ourselves, too. My closet, for one—full of more clothes than I could ever wear. And yet, this morning I showed up to class in sweatpants. It is my mansion. As if I am somehow judged by how spotless and wrinkle-free I present myself; as if it makes part of who I am. My bookshelf, another prime example. The textbooks sit there. Unopened. Unused. Un-learned-from. And yet, I continue to build my collection. With the hopes that someday osmosis might set in and my brain might suddenly be filled with pleasant banks of knowledge. And there are other people who literally DO building mansions for themselves. And there they sit. Behind streak-free windows. Atop hills and at oceansides. Basking in the glory of themselves, soaking in the accomplishment of what they have built.
Each mansion, whatever it may be, is an investment. Clothing. Books. Houses. Even worry, homework, cooking. And somehow, each in their own unique way pumps up our egos, gives us hope for the future. A future we are uncertain we’ll even have.
So today I am looking beyond the future. Beyond tomorrow. Beyond next week and next month. Focusing on eternity. Where God has built a mansion for us. A place where simply being in His presence is more satisfying than clothes and books and earthly houses. A place where homework doesn’t bring guilt, where board scores don’t matter, and where egos are broken by humility.
I’m placing my hope in that future. The only future I can be certain of. Because I can’t know what tomorrow will bring. In fact, no one can.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth & rust destroy, and where thieves break in & steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heave, where moth & rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in & steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” –Matthew 6:19-21
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