After writing yesterday's post about Ecclesiastes 3, I continued to consider it. I took it to bed with me and read the whole chapter several times before falling asleep. Each time the words that jarred me were that God "has set eternity in the human heart." Today I did some research on this work.
King Solomon, whose very name has come to be synonymous with "wisdom," is believed to have written these passages. The son of King David, Solomon had fallen into, shall we say, bad habits of every stripe, and after wrestling with his conscience to find a higher Truth, he is believed to have settled into the observation that the only true happiness can be found in God. No true happiness was to be found in all the distractors he had chased; it was only to be found in God.
I am certainly not one to say that I want to challenge the wisdom of Solomon, and I agree with what Solomon was saying. AND, I also believe that spiritual writings of every genesis are intended to guide our own spiritual discovery and growth--to find what is true in our own hearts. Accordingly, I believe that they are not intended to tell us an answer, but to point us toward the questions that we should explore.
The question that kept coming to me from this passage was "What does it mean that eternity has been set in the human heart?" I looked up eternity: "the afterlife, everlasting life, life after death, the hereafter, the afterworld, the next world." In a word: heaven. All set in the human heart. Wow...and...I am sure it is true.
I have written before in this blog that I believe God exists in our hearts and what connects us--everyone of us--is God--one heart to another to another...all connected as One. In those moments when I have felt keenly connected to All That Is, I feel it in my heart. When I chose the name for this blog, I did so because I know in my heart that if I listen carefully to my heart, I am listening to God. I believe that is true for each of us. When we listen to our hearts, we are listening to eternity, set in the human heart.
I was also certain when I chose the name for this blog that it was about intention--the intention to live the best possible life. If listening to heaven isn't it, I am not sure where we would turn for answers. That is what Solomon seems to be telling us. He has searched for answers everywhere and in everything, and the answer is in set in the human heart--yours and mine.
Showing posts with label Ecclesiastes 3. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ecclesiastes 3. Show all posts
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Saturday, May 10, 2014
A Season for Everything
When I headed out on my errands this afternoon, I found my usual brisk walk falling into a jog. I felt great. It had been so long. I used to run seven miles a day seven days a week...for years. I can remember saying I couldn't imagine a day without running.
A man was running behind me one day, probably 25 years ago. I could hear him moving in on me. Soon, he was pacing me. He said he was 72, and he'd been running since his 20s. He said he had every pair of running shoes he'd ever worn out. Later, I saw an article about him in the paper, and there he was with all those shoes. After chatting a bit, he left me in his dust. That, I thought, is how I want to be 72, running every day and leaving the young ones in my dust.
Then there was an injury, and I had to switch to swimming for a few months. I swam every day, and I was liberated from the pool just two weeks before a half-marathon that I had entered. The swimming had maintained my aerobic fitness, and I was able to complete the race.
Later a protracted illness sidelined me. Always, my goal was to get back to pounding the pavement.
A number of years ago, dance came into my life. I danced almost every evening. I had never been so joyful as when I danced. Time stood still. I'd dance three or four or seven hours straight, and it would feel like a blink. When my partner lifted me in the air, I felt like I was flying...maybe I was. Once he said I giggled throughout the whole lift. I don't remember that, but it doesn't surprise me. I could never imagine not dancing almost every day.
While I was dancing, I still ran several times a week. Both fed something in me that sparked an aliveness. During my first week living in Washington in late 2006, I was crossing the street, and I was hit by a car. In the days after the accident the pain was intense, but with the help of an awesome chiropractor and a massage therapist, purported to be the best in Washington, gradually the pain subsided, as long as I was reasonably sedentary. I could do some dancing, but not the Latin dances--the hip motion hurt too much. Eventually, I was able to do all dances, even if not with the panache I once had or with nearly the frequency or duration. I was never able to run after that...until today.
I didn't want to stretch it today. I ran a couple of blocks then walked a couple more. Then I'd run a bit more. My venture back into running was a spontaneous one: I had bags so I was not attempting a personal best. I was just feeling the rhythm to flow with my body's movement again. What joy! I felt so alive.
As the evening passed, I pondered my foyer back into running. Just yesterday I had talked with a man who did a half-marathon after being sidelined from an injury for an extended period. Do you suppose...maybe...could the running in me still be wanting to come out? Or was that for a different time in my life...?
One of my favorite biblical passages is from Ecclesiastes 3. It starts "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens..." I had it read at my wedding. I had it read at my father's funeral. I found it appropriate for both. In fact, I have found solace in it at every passage of my life. Later in the chapter, it says, "I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end."
At any moment, we only see where we are now. We cannot see the context of the world around us or how events, which have passed in our lives, relate to those that will occur later. We cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I cannot know why running made me feel so alive or why it had to stop so abruptly. Or why dance was such a daily presence in my life, and it also has hobbled almost to a halt. Each was a season, which may or may not have passed.
Later the Ecclesiastes passage speaks of our work. "I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God." Finding satisfaction in my toil. Just as with running and dance, there have been many years during which the satisfaction from my work has brought me overwhelming joy--it was not even the slightest stretch to know that my toil was a "gift of God."
In recent years, not so much. Yet I remind myself that there is a season for everything: running, dancing, joy in my work, what feels like drudgery in my work. I do not see the bigger picture. I cannot know what God has done from beginning to end. Today, I am reminded that if I can run again, even if just for a couple blocks at a time, that I may find great joy in my work again. I am reminded that on Monday, I will be coaching almost all day; coaching almost always brings me great joy. One day of joy in my work may be like running two blocks. I am not running a marathon, but I am able to gratefully experience joy in that moment.
There is a time for experiencing joy in a passing moment. That time is now.
A man was running behind me one day, probably 25 years ago. I could hear him moving in on me. Soon, he was pacing me. He said he was 72, and he'd been running since his 20s. He said he had every pair of running shoes he'd ever worn out. Later, I saw an article about him in the paper, and there he was with all those shoes. After chatting a bit, he left me in his dust. That, I thought, is how I want to be 72, running every day and leaving the young ones in my dust.
Then there was an injury, and I had to switch to swimming for a few months. I swam every day, and I was liberated from the pool just two weeks before a half-marathon that I had entered. The swimming had maintained my aerobic fitness, and I was able to complete the race.
Later a protracted illness sidelined me. Always, my goal was to get back to pounding the pavement.
A number of years ago, dance came into my life. I danced almost every evening. I had never been so joyful as when I danced. Time stood still. I'd dance three or four or seven hours straight, and it would feel like a blink. When my partner lifted me in the air, I felt like I was flying...maybe I was. Once he said I giggled throughout the whole lift. I don't remember that, but it doesn't surprise me. I could never imagine not dancing almost every day.
While I was dancing, I still ran several times a week. Both fed something in me that sparked an aliveness. During my first week living in Washington in late 2006, I was crossing the street, and I was hit by a car. In the days after the accident the pain was intense, but with the help of an awesome chiropractor and a massage therapist, purported to be the best in Washington, gradually the pain subsided, as long as I was reasonably sedentary. I could do some dancing, but not the Latin dances--the hip motion hurt too much. Eventually, I was able to do all dances, even if not with the panache I once had or with nearly the frequency or duration. I was never able to run after that...until today.
I didn't want to stretch it today. I ran a couple of blocks then walked a couple more. Then I'd run a bit more. My venture back into running was a spontaneous one: I had bags so I was not attempting a personal best. I was just feeling the rhythm to flow with my body's movement again. What joy! I felt so alive.
As the evening passed, I pondered my foyer back into running. Just yesterday I had talked with a man who did a half-marathon after being sidelined from an injury for an extended period. Do you suppose...maybe...could the running in me still be wanting to come out? Or was that for a different time in my life...?
One of my favorite biblical passages is from Ecclesiastes 3. It starts "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens..." I had it read at my wedding. I had it read at my father's funeral. I found it appropriate for both. In fact, I have found solace in it at every passage of my life. Later in the chapter, it says, "I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end."
At any moment, we only see where we are now. We cannot see the context of the world around us or how events, which have passed in our lives, relate to those that will occur later. We cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I cannot know why running made me feel so alive or why it had to stop so abruptly. Or why dance was such a daily presence in my life, and it also has hobbled almost to a halt. Each was a season, which may or may not have passed.
Later the Ecclesiastes passage speaks of our work. "I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God." Finding satisfaction in my toil. Just as with running and dance, there have been many years during which the satisfaction from my work has brought me overwhelming joy--it was not even the slightest stretch to know that my toil was a "gift of God."
In recent years, not so much. Yet I remind myself that there is a season for everything: running, dancing, joy in my work, what feels like drudgery in my work. I do not see the bigger picture. I cannot know what God has done from beginning to end. Today, I am reminded that if I can run again, even if just for a couple blocks at a time, that I may find great joy in my work again. I am reminded that on Monday, I will be coaching almost all day; coaching almost always brings me great joy. One day of joy in my work may be like running two blocks. I am not running a marathon, but I am able to gratefully experience joy in that moment.
There is a time for experiencing joy in a passing moment. That time is now.
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