**
I took a stroll downtown one fine evening. The sun was setting but the sky remained brightly lit, as though it was not quite ready to end the day. It was warm and comfortable, with an occasional breeze that cooled the air. I did not have a particular destination in mind.
The farther I walked, the more I was enveloped by the ear-splitting robust sounds of car exhausts, and incessant shrill of the ambulance horns. Moreover, the path became dangerous. I encountered broken glass on the sidewalk. It wasn’t just a few stray shards, but countless pieces that spilled into the main road. I was curious; there wasn’t a bus stop nearby, and I wondered what had happened. The broken shards slowed my steps, as I maneuvered the best that I could to avoid them, and kept walking.
Not long afterwards, as I rounded a corner toward a series of benches that overlooked the river, amongst some bushes, I saw human legs clothed in filthy, tattered jeans and black runners sticking out. I considered that this individual was seeking shade in dramatic fashion, but upon closer inspection the man seemed asleep. It occurred to me that his sleep was permanent, but I didn’t allow my thoughts to linger there. A group of 3 women sat right by him, and I saw them peering at him. Should I have called someone? But who?
I continued walking and came upon a few statues, with inspiring summaries etched forever beneath them. I wondered if these people ever thought they’d be immortalized in this way, for millions of people to see, read, admire, or perhaps be inspired. Only the highlights of their contributions were written, which made me wonder who they were as people. Were there things about them, their actions, their lives hidden in secret that could erase the glory written of them? Did it matter? If I knew something to the contrary of their contributions to the city, would that change anything?
Do I also want to be etched in stone one day? Do you?
As a Christian, it shouldn’t matter as long as you know where you’re spending your eternity. It’s a boring answer, but it’s true. Nevertheless, staring at these statues of people born in the late 1800s, and lived through to the late and mid 1900s, it made me wonder what I want. In this world of broken glass threatening your path in life, of disappointment and dead dreams and expectations, and hope despite it all, it made me ponder. Even if statues are not erected in my name, what is it that genuinely matters to me? What matters to me that isn’t something I’m supposed to say, and supposed to want? Does your destiny in Christ permit such a thing?
No one serving as a soldier gets entangled in civilian affairs, but rather tries to please his commanding officer." 2 Timothy 2:4 (NIV)
