Dying to Life

 


 


I have never really thought about what it might mean to “stop and smell the roses.”  Does it truly take an effort to notice the world around me—to live?  I have always struggled with the dichotomy of my personality, everything feels deep, yet I really perceive myself as shallow.  A desire to please is always right on the edge of my sleeve, exposed and ready to be brushed off like clinging fuzz or a hanging string from a seam.  Why do I try so hard to go unnoticed and to miss the noticeable? I have the capacity to love. I have moments of wisdom—God-given, always. 

Living through one full year of a pandemic and staying in lockdown to keep my immune-compromised loved ones safe—myself safe—transforms the act of living to one that is always focused on impending death. As we watch our loved ones suffer or die from a virus that the world is struggling to understand, there are cocoons built around my “noticers.” 

Will my inability to intentionally wake up and engage my life, reduce my legacy to a silent graveside goodbye? Will I have made a difference for Christ by being silent and unassuming or will there be indelible marks on the lives of others because I was there?  

I know people who have embedded themselves in my heart. Those who have entrusted me with their legacy by tattooing it into my character. Those who have loved me and mentored me so that my walk with Christ will flourish. Some much younger than I. They are not seeking to help me to grow, they are simply sharing what they notice—what they live. And my heart and soul take in.

God is the only one who can bring death to life. As I write these words and look long at my dead-self, allowing tears to flow, Christ waters my soul and it begins to bloom and so do my "noticers." 


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