Life is so odd. Most of us spend most of it trying to be significant in some way, to gain some sort of recognition, to be loved or appreciated or respected by someone. Most people would agree that the things that matter most in life are relationships. The people we’re attached to; those we care about. But there’s this little problem called death that comes along and ruins everything, terminates the objects of our deepest love. Life lets them down and leaves them in the dust. What are we supposed to do? And we all know that some day death is coming after us too. But then what does it matter? So what if I’m snatched away? The world doesn’t come to an end when I do. If I died today, what would happen? Sure, a couple dozen people would cry. They would be sad and miss me. They would hurt inside, feel the death pain try to crush their hearts. A few hundred more people might wonder where that guy went that they used to work with, or see in class, or at intramurals. When they’d find out they’d say “oh wow...that’s too bad! How sad!”... “I can’t believe it, I just saw him the other day!” They’d be momentarily stunned by their nearness to death. They might reevaluate their lives a little bit, do a priority check, and take a few less things for granted. And then they would move on, and most would forget. Life would continue. Someone else would take my seat in class, someone else would take my job and earn my paycheck, someone else would hang out with my friends. I’d be photo shopped out of the picture, erased from life. Things would continue as if I were never there.

Those who were close to me would move on too. They’d have to. It’s a survival mechanism. Other people would fill the void I left. There are plenty of new relationships to be made. Love should not be wasted on the dead. There are too many people among the living who need it. Of course they would think of me sometimes. Maybe one day they would be sorting through my stuff: a pile for the dump, a pile for the thrift store, a pile for community services. Maybe they would keep a few items as mementos. They might find a page or two I once wrote and browse through. Perhaps they’d laugh or smile, or drop a tear…and then they’d put it in a box in the closet, or the attic, and maybe once in a great while when they felt nostalgic, or depressed, or reminiscent, they’d dig it out and look at it and remember me. But that would be all.

Maybe that’s part of why it’s so appealing to believe in God. It's the certainty that there is One who knows me and loves me and has a place for me that will never be taken. He knows exactly what I’m like…who I am. There is no misunderstanding, no forgetting. He knows the exact ways that I am different from everyone else. I’m unique to Him, a special creation. I’m irreplaceable...not that He couldn’t replace me… He just doesn’t want to. He loves me that much. Even when I die, He remembers me and I am ever in His mind. No one takes my spot in His heart. Time cannot erase me, for I am engraved in His heart and in His hands and He is eternal. My life suddenly has some meaning. I do matter somehow in the grand scheme of things, because the One who’s running the show has got this thing for me. You see, He made me, and He loves me. He thinks I’m priceless. He doesn't ever want to lose me. It is so beautiful. It’s unbelievable.

¶ 12:20 AM