Max Lucado wrote, in one of his books, that the best place to make important decisions in life is at a cemetary. I think he had a point there.
I've been wondering, I have been alive for a while now;lived, learned, loved, been places I could never have dreamed of, seen things, some good, some bad, and some I thought were just ordinary. Have meet a lot of people, loved some, did not love some, noticed some, ignored some, and many others were just faces in the crowd. And I've been asking myself the question: what difference does it make? What difference does me being here make? Have I made a difference in anybody's life? Or have I lived for myself all along?
I recently had the priveledge to listen to an amazing man. Travels all over Africa, preaching the gospel in villages, feeding the poor, caring for the sick, building houses and schools. He made a remarkable statement in a talk he gave. He said someone once asked him what he wanted written on his grave when he died. As in if the answer had been rehearsed many times before, he calmly and immediately replied,'Just write, HE DID IT'. I admire such people. I was awestruck. What an epitaph, No fancy words, no poetry, no praises for a virtuous life. Simple words. Not far off from what Jesus would have said. Infact, He did say something similar before he died on the cross. He said, 'It is finished'. I'm done. I did what I was here to do.
What about you dear readers? What about me, I ask myself? Time and tide wait for no one. Some people are busy finishing their assignment. Others have just gotten started. Majority spend their entire lifetime simply trying to figure out what it was that they were here for;when they do figure it out, it's just too late. Worst are the people, who can't be bothered. What purpose? I don't have one, they proudly proclaim. They have it coming. Where do I stand? I ask myself, dreading the answer. I don't want 'Lost the plot' written on my grave.....

Winter chills and snow storms

We go through life in a rush, always busy, sticking to routine, out of breath, running around from one thing to another. And then sometimes, God disrupts the schedule. He changes the lights to red, and causes us to come to a halt. The stop signs come in a variety of shapes and sizes, sometimes it's a lost job, sometimes it's sickness, sometimes it's the loss of a loved one, sometimes it's people, sometimes it's friends and family, and many a times, it's just a bad day. And occasionally God brings in nature. For me, it was Snow. And lots of it. It disrupts our daily life, brings cars and planes and people to a crippling stop. But it also changes our vision. Snow makes black things look white, the ordinary becomes beautiful, and the beautiful comes ordinary. We no longer admire the snow-covered car as beautiful, but we surely admire the trees in the back garden, that were there all along, but had never gotten our attention. The streets we cross everyday,the roads, the houses, the people, everything looks beautiful. Majestic. Sacred. Why? it's a change of lens, a different filtering of light, another perspective. Some coloured pictures look more elegant in black and white. And all stop signs are there for a purpose. They keep us safe. I thank God for the red lights He's placed in my life, (I might have ran over a lot of people without them; provided I didn't kill myself first), but sometimes I wonder wouldn't it be better if God didn't have to use a megaphone to get my attention? What if a gentle whisper was enough?