Words on a Page Continued

Last week I started bringing you some words that I have thought and/or written down. This week will be a continuation. Again if this leads to a conversation, awesome, if not, still awesome. Also again because it’s important, the words expressed in these aren’t necessarily how I’m feeling now one way or the other, and as such please don’t think that my life is in a bad depressing state.

The first one for this week:

If I was forced to examine my life, would I be happy with how things have turned out? To what extent would I actually be able to say I’ve accomplished things and that it wasn’t all fake? To what end would people be able to say these are his thoughts or actions, his passions, his loves, or will it all just be lost in the chaos. Am I willing to just be a footnote in history, or can i rise to the extent I dream of. At what point do I stop procrastinating and life for the day and design for tomorrow? Words without actions are just words, essentially just a waste of time and oxygen. So how does one fill a life that is so empty and alone? Where do they find strength, love, or even where to begin to search? If I am able to do anything I want, what would I do, who would I be, who would I meet, where would I go, and what would I want to know? How do I find and hold myself accountable?

The second one isn’t written by me, but is something I think on constantly and is one of my favorite stories, so I’ll share it here. It’s called The Files and I’m not sure who the author is. I may have shared this before, but even so, still worth sharing again:

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in a room filled with small files, which seemed to go on forever. The first file to catch my attention read “Girls I have Liked.” I quickly shut the file, shocked to realize that I knew these girls. And then, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room was a card catalog system for my life. Here was written the actions of every single moment.

I began randomly opening files and exploring their contents. Some brought joy and sweet memories, others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. The files ranged from “friends”, to “Friends I have betrayed”, “Lies I have Told”, “Comfort I have Given”, “Things I have muttered Under my breath”. I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. It didn’t’ seem possible that I could have written all of these cards, but each card was in my own handwriting, and each signed with my signature.

When I came to one marked “Lustful Thoughts”, I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, and shuddered at its detailed content. Rage exploded within me. NO ONE MUST EVER SEE THESE CARDS! I HAVE TO DESTROY THEM! In an insane frenzy, I yanked the file out and began pounding it on the floor, but I couldn’t dislodge a single card. I tried to tear a single card only to find that it was as hard as steel. Defeated and helpless, I let out a long sigh, and then I saw it, the title read “People with Whom I have Shared the Gospel.” The handle was brighter than those around it. Newer, almost unused. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

I fell to my knees and cried out in shame – the overwhelming shame of it all. But as I pushed away the tears I saw Him. No! NOT HERE, ANYONE BUT JESUS. Why did he have to go through every one? He seemed intuitively to go to the worst boxes. I dropped my head and covered my face with my hands.  He walked over and put his arms around me. He could have said so many things, but he didn’t say a word. He just cried with me. He got up and went back to the first file and began signing his name over mine. “No!|”, I shouted. I grabbed the card from him and there it was — written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covering mine, written in His blood.

He gently took the card back and continued signing. I don’t know how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side, He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.” I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on the door. There were still cards to be written…

Next week we’ll have a few more to look at. Again if you have questions or just want to share with me, I’m here.

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