So, I came across an article whilst browsing the most reliable, (cough, cough), source of information in the universe...the WWW.
The article was a run-down of recently and not-so-recently deceased stars of music, movies and television and what their estate's net worth was over the last calendar year. It was quite eye-opening to see that some of the names on the list were actually more monetarily successful in death than in life.
Also, it seems you can make a tidy living for your surviving family members from the great beyond, if you have certain marketable characteristics... copyright for music or books as well as the rights to market your name or image.
Anyway, it was morbidly fascinating and got me thinking...
I've made the joke with my wife over the years, that I'm worth more dead than alive...life insurance etc...
But I never thought about it from a spiritual perspective.
Stick with me, this might be a bit of a stretch.
When we commit our lives to follow Christ, scripture tells us we are dead to sin and the old way of life. In a sense we die to ourselves or as Paul puts it; "the old has gone, the new has come."
So in the spiritual sense, we are made alive through Christ when we put our old lives to death. So, when you look at the life you lived pre-Christ, you are worth more dead than alive, because of the total re-birthing that takes place when you commit your life to Christ.
Committing your life to follow Christ might just be the greatest leap your personal net worth has ever taken!
Anyway, just a silly observation...but it begs the question, what is the life your living worth from an eternal perspective?
thoughts to ponder...
Monday, October 25, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
What If?
So, I was standing in an upstairs room in our church building the other morning looking out from a large picture window.
The panoramic view was truly breathtaking.
Fall had arrived in all of its splendor, setting fire to the hillsides as leaves took on the brilliance of their grave clothes.
The vivid color splashed across the scene in front of me got me thinking about how the seasons are a metaphor for our lives.
I know this is not an original observation, but nonetheless, I was struck by its veracity once again.
We, like the trees, experience the seasons of life with similarly visible effects.
We don the green of spring as the buds on the branches let loose their feathery captives...life is fresh, hopeful and fraught with possibility. As time passes we find ourselves, like the leaves, painted with the broad strokes of time and circumstance.
Though we would wish it away if we could, the inevitability of growing brittle and frail becomes a consistent reminder that we too will and must fall.
With every dip in temperature and hint of breeze, we quake, anticipating the gentle release that sends us twirling toward the earth.
Now, this could be a really depressing little tome that I've crafted here, but, let's look at it from a different slant...
What if we view the seasons of life from a more, shall we say, spiritual and perhaps positive perspective?
What if we then, are the tree and not the leaf?
What if we chose to see the leaves as indicators of spiritual growth in our lives and the seasons as opportunities to promote the same?
Because, we all have seasons in which our lives are rife with foliage and full and fresh and alive and we revel in it! But, conversely, we have those seasons in which things get a little, shall we say, dry, and possibly even barren, much like the tree in winter. But what then, if we chose to take those moments, knowing they, like the seasons, come 'round regularly and made provision in our lives when we are without "fruit", to build up a storage of (spiritual) nutrients, not unlike the measures an arborist takes to insure the health of trees and prepared ourselves for the eventuality of Spring!
What if, knowing that those times do come when we have more exposed branch and less leaf, we utilized those moments to drive our roots deep and shore up our foundation?
What if, instead of complaining about those seasons in which the drizzle and cold temper our fire and enthusiasm, we chose to build a fire of our own, using the prunings of wayward limbs that served no purpose but to distract from the shape we were designed to take?
What if then, when Spring came, we were ready to explode with growth that came from intentional, focused preparation instead of our usual and at times reactionary repose?
What if?
The panoramic view was truly breathtaking.
Fall had arrived in all of its splendor, setting fire to the hillsides as leaves took on the brilliance of their grave clothes.
The vivid color splashed across the scene in front of me got me thinking about how the seasons are a metaphor for our lives.
I know this is not an original observation, but nonetheless, I was struck by its veracity once again.
We, like the trees, experience the seasons of life with similarly visible effects.
We don the green of spring as the buds on the branches let loose their feathery captives...life is fresh, hopeful and fraught with possibility. As time passes we find ourselves, like the leaves, painted with the broad strokes of time and circumstance.
Though we would wish it away if we could, the inevitability of growing brittle and frail becomes a consistent reminder that we too will and must fall.
With every dip in temperature and hint of breeze, we quake, anticipating the gentle release that sends us twirling toward the earth.
Now, this could be a really depressing little tome that I've crafted here, but, let's look at it from a different slant...
What if we view the seasons of life from a more, shall we say, spiritual and perhaps positive perspective?
What if we then, are the tree and not the leaf?
What if we chose to see the leaves as indicators of spiritual growth in our lives and the seasons as opportunities to promote the same?
Because, we all have seasons in which our lives are rife with foliage and full and fresh and alive and we revel in it! But, conversely, we have those seasons in which things get a little, shall we say, dry, and possibly even barren, much like the tree in winter. But what then, if we chose to take those moments, knowing they, like the seasons, come 'round regularly and made provision in our lives when we are without "fruit", to build up a storage of (spiritual) nutrients, not unlike the measures an arborist takes to insure the health of trees and prepared ourselves for the eventuality of Spring!
What if, knowing that those times do come when we have more exposed branch and less leaf, we utilized those moments to drive our roots deep and shore up our foundation?
What if, instead of complaining about those seasons in which the drizzle and cold temper our fire and enthusiasm, we chose to build a fire of our own, using the prunings of wayward limbs that served no purpose but to distract from the shape we were designed to take?
What if then, when Spring came, we were ready to explode with growth that came from intentional, focused preparation instead of our usual and at times reactionary repose?
What if?
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