To man belong the plans of the heart, but from the LORD comes the reply of the tongue.
Proverbs 16:1
Right now, even as I type these words, I’m on a train headed to a town I’ve never heard about, a distance I know nothing of and I’m too afraid to even look at my watch because I know that it is creeping up on 11 p.m. I do not know how or when I’ll get home tonight and with every parting second my distress increases. Yes, you guessed it, I’m on the wrong train.
“However did you get in this quandary?”, you ask. Well, I could tell you but right now I’d rather just forget it. You see, a series of rather unfortunate turns have contrived to put me in my position, at each point my decision seemed pretty innocuous but together they have landed me in a rather spectacular mess.
I came out of Church after a particularly invigorating service and a good meal afterwards and turned right rather than left as I’d much rather talk a few more minutes with a friend I had just met tonight. Then I skipped the first bus so I could take the second. Then I stopped at a train station because I assumed the underground would be faster - only to find out that the underground is closed on weekends. So I took the replacement bus service which took me everywhere I did not want to go, eventually dropping me off at a halfway point. By now my frustration was nearing boiling point but I walked into the train station, asked directions from an attendant and ended up standing in the bitter cold on platform 10, waiting for the next train to come along.
When eventually it did come, I hopped on board without a second thought and plopped down in the closest seat, but even as the doors slowly crept shut I turned around to discover that most of my fellow stragglers had remained behind, apparently waiting for the next train. “Where is this train headed?”, I asked as it slowly pulled away, but even as someone opened his mouth to speak I knew I would not like whatever he had to tell me.
There are a privileged few people in this world who start off their journeys with a pretty good idea of where they want to be and actually end up there. Often they are those who have sacrificed their money, time and so much else in the pursuit of a golden dream - the Tiger Woods’ who have played with golf clubs from birth or the Michael Jordans whose love for “the game” supersedes all. And then there’s the rest of us - people like you and me whose plans are really just desires, whose desires are wishes and whose wishes are mere fantasies.
Perhaps for you, as for me, a decade, or perhaps even a year ago you had different dreams, aspirations and targets but one turn after the other, one decision piled onto the next, you found yourself heading in a totally different direction. If you are fortunate it will not be an unpleasant destination, but it is often very different. We discover that things very rarely end up exactly as we planned them and the blueprint keeps changing. This uncertainty can be quite discomfiting if we let it get to us but is it not a great comfort to know that even when things don’t go according to our plan they are indeed going according to a plan - His plan?
You see, although we often do not stop long enough to realize it, our lives are carefully and intricately woven and interconnected with everyone else’s and there’s only one Grand Plan in action - God’s plan. So long as we live life on God’s terms and in submission to His will we can live with the peace and confidence that regardless of what happens to us God is never surprised. With Him there are no coincidences. Where we see wrong turns, God sees opportunity; where we see frustration He encourages us to take up the challenge, to step up to the plate. And we can do so with full confidence that He knows tomorrow - after all He wrote it Himself, before time began.
And if you must know, I did find out where I’m headed after all. Shenfield...
With love, Doosuur.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Little Piece of Bubble Wrap
However many years a man may live, let him enjoy them all. But let him remember the days of darkness, for they will be many. Everything to come is meaningless.
Ecclesiastes 11:8
I ran into the bus, hands in my pockets as I huddled against the cold October wind and I quickly settled into a seat for the ride home. As I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes I heard a popping sound. I looked up to see a middle-aged lady, with a piece of bubble wrap in her hand. She had a smug smile and a twinkle in her eye as she gayly burst the little bubbles one after the other. “Pop, pop, pop...” they went, keeping time to the seconds as they passed and it was easy to see that she was enjoying her little diversion immensely. Good for her, I thought, as I mentally recounted the pleasure I myself have derived countless times over from flattening out yards of bubble wrap.
As the bus trudged along I got caught up in a reverie as I listened absently to the creaking of the old bus and thought about that strange electronic female voice that follows us around, calling out the bus stops. I closed my eyes again as my mind momentarily recalled the movie Eagle Eye and from there, like it so often does, wandered to a hundred-and-one other minute and insignificant thoughts until something caught my attention, bringing me back to reality. It had stopped. I strained my ears to listen but I could not hear it. The popping had stopped. Whatever had happened to bubble-wrap lady?
As I opened my eyes tentatively I saw the woman, turning over the sheet of plastic and running her finger, ever so carefully over the rows of little bubbles, looking for one more elusive air cushion. Unfortunately for her there was none to be found; all the bubbles were gone. She rolled it up into a ball, folded her arms, heaved a sigh and stared forlornly out of the window. The whole gesture suggested one thing: “Now what?” She had exhausted her daily allocation of bubble-bursting pleasure and there was left for her only a flat and wasted piece of plastic and the silence.
My mind wandered again as I thought about how our lives are like that piece of bubble wrap. We squeeze out pleasure every way we know how and as often as we can in an attempt to feel fulfilled and to give ourselves a sense of worth. But with everything that we do there is ultimately a “now what?” moment where we realize that it’s all done and dusted. When we reach that climax do we have a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment or a sense that all the pleasure’s done with and there’s nothing to show for it. And so I determine that I will savor every moment that I can on this earth with a view to the ultimate “now what” when all we’ve done will be shown for what it’s worth. And perhaps when I’m done with my little bit of bubble wrap the bus would have arrived at my destination. Home.
With love, Doosuur.
Ecclesiastes 11:8
I ran into the bus, hands in my pockets as I huddled against the cold October wind and I quickly settled into a seat for the ride home. As I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes I heard a popping sound. I looked up to see a middle-aged lady, with a piece of bubble wrap in her hand. She had a smug smile and a twinkle in her eye as she gayly burst the little bubbles one after the other. “Pop, pop, pop...” they went, keeping time to the seconds as they passed and it was easy to see that she was enjoying her little diversion immensely. Good for her, I thought, as I mentally recounted the pleasure I myself have derived countless times over from flattening out yards of bubble wrap.
As the bus trudged along I got caught up in a reverie as I listened absently to the creaking of the old bus and thought about that strange electronic female voice that follows us around, calling out the bus stops. I closed my eyes again as my mind momentarily recalled the movie Eagle Eye and from there, like it so often does, wandered to a hundred-and-one other minute and insignificant thoughts until something caught my attention, bringing me back to reality. It had stopped. I strained my ears to listen but I could not hear it. The popping had stopped. Whatever had happened to bubble-wrap lady?
As I opened my eyes tentatively I saw the woman, turning over the sheet of plastic and running her finger, ever so carefully over the rows of little bubbles, looking for one more elusive air cushion. Unfortunately for her there was none to be found; all the bubbles were gone. She rolled it up into a ball, folded her arms, heaved a sigh and stared forlornly out of the window. The whole gesture suggested one thing: “Now what?” She had exhausted her daily allocation of bubble-bursting pleasure and there was left for her only a flat and wasted piece of plastic and the silence.
My mind wandered again as I thought about how our lives are like that piece of bubble wrap. We squeeze out pleasure every way we know how and as often as we can in an attempt to feel fulfilled and to give ourselves a sense of worth. But with everything that we do there is ultimately a “now what?” moment where we realize that it’s all done and dusted. When we reach that climax do we have a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment or a sense that all the pleasure’s done with and there’s nothing to show for it. And so I determine that I will savor every moment that I can on this earth with a view to the ultimate “now what” when all we’ve done will be shown for what it’s worth. And perhaps when I’m done with my little bit of bubble wrap the bus would have arrived at my destination. Home.
With love, Doosuur.
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