I stare at the bland ceiling and think about life. I think about the prospect of having worked hard, paid my dues and finding out that, perhaps, it all meant nothing.
You hear of people devoting their lives to things that don’t matter. You see people spending hours and hours in from of the TV. Useless. Short-lived. Scary.
Thoughts of my own futility scare the crap out of me. What if it’s all worthless? What if I spend three years writing a book and two people read it? What if I slave my whole life for a cause benefits no one? What if I wake up early every Monday, Wednesday and Friday to write a blog, but no one reads it?
Are you afraid of futility? I guess it’s a good fear to have. I’m afraid that what I do will not last. I’m afraid of the sands slipping away in the hourglass. Are you? Be afraid. Fear spurs you on. Sometimes I get so afraid I pull myself out of bed and work on something productive.
I found the secret to beating the fear when it becomes to great. Want to hear it?
“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but sit shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”
There it is – I just make sure that the work I busy myself in is attached to God’s work. If it points to him it must be good.
And I work on. I don’t think I’ll ever be sure if most of my work is futile or not, but I work on anyway. I know that, at the very least, since I busy myself with God’s work it will help me. Even if only two people read the thing I worked for three years on, at least the writing of it was a benefit to me. And I guess that’s enough for now.
This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com