Yesterday, I spent several hours–and made several attempts–trying to update the apps on my iPhone. The simple reason it took so long is because I had let it go for so long. Because of this, there were about one hundred sixteen apps that needed updates.
You read that right: 116.
Thing is, my phone was too full to allow those updates to install. I kept getting an error about this.
So I would remove some things, try again.
Same error. Removed other things.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Like life of late, this was feeling like rather too much work.
If you were to look at my:
You would find much the same thing: rather a lot of clutter that is entirely too much work to dig my way out of.
J.K. Rowling famously had Professor Dumbledore say that “To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
By that metric, I suppose I will never die! For mine is far from a well-organized mind. The random moniker you see in the banner above is more than just a catchy name–it’s become a way of life.
A sad half-life, perhaps. It’s no way for a Christian–let alone anyone–to live. Yet there it is: a decided lack of intentionality, a random knocking through the days, just getting by.
Truth be told, I know I shan’t live forever (not in this body, anyway). If the last few years, and health concerns, are any indication, the end may come sooner rather than later. (Don’t worry–other than aging, I’m not actively “dying”–that I know of).
Death can come to anyone, anywhere, anytime. Trayvon Martin was just walking home; you, or I, could be in a car accident, or… Or…
More distressing to me than the thought of not being there to see my kids graduate high school, or walk my daughter down the aisle, is the legacy–should I depart before then–of simply surviving, of getting by, I would leave them.
Not to mention the messes both literal, and metaphoric, I would leave in my wake. God forbid they should have to clean any of that stuff up.
Yet undoubtedly they shall. As I saw when my folks dealt with the aftermath(s) of their parents’ passings.
As I’m sure I will when my parents pass.
I hope, despite my flaws, I’ve left something with my kids that my folks didn’t impart to me:
That broken, cluttered, though my soul was, they remember me as man who both sought, and gave, grace.
It may take the rest of my life, but I hope that when I do shuffle off this mortal coil–that when this mortal takes on immortality–it is with a more well-organized mind.
What about you? What legacy do you want to leave?