əˈfem(ə)rəl

The ephemeral nature of life - what a sobering topic on the last Sunday of 2010. 

If you're wondering what the word "ephemeral" means, it's o.k..... most people don't. And most people don't live their lives in the light of what it means, either.

"Ephemeral" means transient, fleeting, temporary. Life is transient, fleeting, temporary.

This morning at church, my pastor talked about the ephemerality of life. He used a few pictures to illustrate the definition and to mirror the fragility of our lives; a dandelion seeding, a rock eroded by time and nature, a candle that had just been snuffed out - smoke still winding into the air from the wick, an hourglass.

Again, when you allow this truth to permeate into your heart and mind, it's very sobering.

Life is transient, preparing us for eternity - with or without Christ.
Life is fleeting - we can hide it, but we cannot reverse the aging process. Each minute that passes is one that we can never reclaim. It's gone.
Life is temporary - you may be blessed with many years or you might be in a car accident and die tomorrow afternoon.

We all know that life is fragile and we mourn that when the life of someone we love is "cut short" or comes to an end, but do we really allow that to influence the choices we make every day? Life eventually goes on and we live to our own gratification until another tragedy demands us to acknowledge that life can change from one moment to the next.

None of us are guaranteed tomorrow and, although we should not live in wait or fear of death, it should motivate us to take advantage of every opportunity that we are given to fulfill the purpose of this life.

We need to stop wasting time and seize the day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I think the poem and pictures speak for themselves....

Ozymandias

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

                                       

                  - by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I moved 3 years, 3 months and 12 days ago. 1,200 days ago, which is (according to Google) approximately 1,728,000 minutes ago).

1,200 days ago I had no idea what my future was going to hold. And it was terrifying and I was angry.
1,200 days later, I look back and honestly don't know what to say.

My life has changed drastically. Mostly for the better (leaving allowed me to look at life from a different angle and I needed that to reorientate the direction my life was heading) but I still have those days where I ache to be back there - to be with the people that I grew up with and built so many memories with. People who lived next door and who taught me piano lessons. People who waved at me from their porches as I biked down the road and parents who applauded my classes' part in our Christmas show. Kids in Sunday School and kids from the Play Area. Teachers at my school and kids I learned with in my class. People who know who I know and who know and understand what they mean to me. I miss that family of people.

In the past four days, I've talked to five people I grew up with - all considerably random encounters, none, I am ashamed to admit, initiated by me.

I had a conversation on MSN with a girl who lived down the street from my house when I moved in. We were friends from my second afternoon living there - she offered me an extra plastic fork to chew up and I accepted. It'd been about 2 years since we'd talked.

A guy from my class in Gr. 9 started talking to me tonight. I'd known him for years, through soccer, the Play Area, friends (and just living in a small town....), but we didn't really hang out until the year before I moved. And now we talk.

Another guy randomly struck up a conversation with me tonight. He was one of the 13 guys in my class. I, being one of 2 girls until Grade Four, got along with the boys very well. I tried to think of the last time I talked to him, and I think it was when I said goodbye to him when he moved at the end of Gr. 5.

I had coffee with two more girls on Tuesday. It was strange to be face-to-face with people I hadn't seen since I left, and all the memories that brought bubbling to the surface.

I've been looking at pictures - of the school playground, of the Mall, of the G&L, of the arena, of the really steep and tall hill that was awful to walk up, but a blast to ride your bike down, of my old laneway - and I miss it. I miss it terribly.

I don't regret moving and most of the changes that brought to my life, but I guess it bothers me that the places and the people my life was centered and built on has ceased to be there. The memories and the lessons of my "child/teenage hood" are held in their hands and it doesn't feel right to let that slip through my fingers. It's a part of me that I want back.

Sadly, I've lost touch with most of them.... our lives have gone in different directions, we have different friends now, some of us has moved away,  and we have different life experiences. And it's hard to try to reconnect with people after so much time has passed - to try to re-establish common ground. It's hard to pick things up where you left them....

....or could it maybe be as simple as taking the half-read book off the shelf, dusting it off, finding the bookmark and starting to read again?

They say a good story starts with a lump in your throat. Maybe the same is true for a blog.

It's been a lumpy sort of a week.

There's always been a lump, but over the past few months it's been getting bigger, slowing depleting my air supply - choking on words that so desperately want to come to the surface. Maybe it's time to get the story out.

So begins my blog.