i enjoy crime tv dramas, you know, the ones where someone is murdered and the detectives have to track down the killer(s), preferably with some humour and perhaps a twist. interestingly the shows illuminate an aspect of life that everyone, i imagine, to some extent deals with: significance. does my life matter?
the detectives unravel the strings that connect the individual not only to other people but to accomplishments, successes, failures, and crimes. some people throw themselves into pursuits in hopes that when the cord of life is abruptly cut, some noble (or ignoble) legacy will live on. then of course there are others who leave their marks on lives, hearts breaking or rejoicing.
the one thing that is rarely said of the collection of cells now devoid of the spark we call life is that he/she lived in a vacuum, touched no one, is remembered by no one. even chance encounters lead to relationships that lead to memories that live on.
really, when we ask ourselves, “does my life matter?” a large part is contained in the query of whether people will remember us. whether the ripple of my body falling into the pool of eternity will touch lives standing on the shore.
which is then ironic how little we measure the current significance of our breathing steps in the lives of those around us. or at least we allow things, pursuits, differences to separate us from the very meter by which we will count ourselves full when the Authority comes around. and yet perhaps it’s right that we lose sight of the very thing that matters. after all, we cannot measure the immeasurable. i cannot say, now, truly if i am missed. if i am cared for. i can count friends, invest in lives but i cannot be consumed by my effect on them or i will be tragically altered to a place of irrelevancy in their eyes. just being is the currency by which i feed my meter and that requires a level of self-forgetfulness that is delicate.
the moments i’ve been reminded that my life is not a vacuum are small in the grand scheme of things.
a child running through a building alerting all who hear that i am visiting--i matter.
a friend quoting my casual words years later--i matter.
the smile of a friend seeing me after an absence--i matter.
the genuine thanks from a co-worker as i help her learn--i matter.
i try to think of moments and realise my memory has betrayed me--dismissing significance without a thought. i know there are more but i cannot remember them. and with the betrayal comes the lie that i don’t matter, that my life weighs less than a feather and as such will make no ripples.
the road winds on to the point where i am stopped at the truth i left out of the conversation until now: i do not determine significance. in my life, while it may feel so much so that how i affect those around me equates significance, in reality a deeper level remains: He determines my significance. He cares that i touch lives around me, bearing grace and thankfulness. He cares that whatever i do--pursuits, accomplishments--i do as unto Him. but He says i matter, no matter what. because He is, i am not a vacuum.
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