Last Friday night, the demented drummer returned to my chest and I found myself back in the ER.
After my first episode of atrial fibrillation, I had hoped that it would be a good long time before anything like this happened again, but it was not to be.
Once again, lying on the gurney was a time of anxiety, mixed with more anxiety, and then a dash of anxiety to top it off.
I found myself doing what many people have done in similar circumstances: I became aware that I was trying to bargain with God: “If you get me through this, I’ll sell everything I own, give it to the poor, move to Borneo, live among the indigenous peoples, preach the gospel, adopt 35 foster children, and fast for 40 days every month — just get me through this, please!”
Truth be told, even while I was doing that, I knew it was pointless. As the anxiety reduced to a dull roar and I was able to compose myself somewhat, I found myself asking what I had done with my life. If it was all to end now, would I be okay with that?
Time is an interesting thing. One minute, one second, can make all the difference. In my case, at 9: 28 p.m., I was fine — at 9:29 p.m., I wasn’t. Things can change that quickly.
We’re in the season of Lent. In this season, we are asked to look at our weakness and our sinfulness, but we are also asked to ponder our mortality. There is going to be a minute that will be the last minute we draw breath on this side of heaven.
So, how are we living?
This is not meant to be morbid or maudlin — this is a season to ponder:
What really matters? What matters most? What are we are holding on to that we should just let go
Blessings and peace to you.
From beneath the clutter of our lives,
we call out to You, God.
It is not so much that we have chosen evil
as that we have pursued little goods
and lesser gods,
until we have lost our way.
— Ted Loder
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
— Galatians 5:1