This world isn't ours for the taking

​So Bob Goff comes after me hard this morning. I mean it's Friday, Bob, must you really?

The scripture below sits prominently across the top of the page in this entry. I am but a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. That's hard hitting, really, until you contemplate the truth of it all.

And that truth is, in the grand scheme of things, I am here for a little while. And - to my knowledge - not one of us has avoided the vanishing act. Not one.

So, that begs the question, what am I here for then? We all have to determine what we're supposed to being doing with our "appears for a little while."

Bob Goff says this about our lives and short time:

"We didn't earn this life. We don't own our bodies or the world in which we find ourselves. Out of the overflow of God's love, He created us and gave us the opportunity to take care of a small space in the world for a while. He gave us gifts and bodies and belongings, all entrusted to us for a time so we could give love to more people."

And then Goff conlcudes with this one - which might as well have included "Dear Keith."

"If you find yourself giving in to a sense of greed and entitlement, remember this world isn't ours for the taking."

I start most days here, one way or another. In this space refecting on God's love for me, either in reading or writing or just thinking. Many of my days start with the right mindset. They do. Then I hit my front door. Lord, I hate my front door.

I think my front door is broken, or maybe possessed by some evil force. Because every time I cross through it, into the world, my mindset wants to shift from God to me. Like in an instant. I feel the pull away from "how do I give love to more people" and into the darkness of "how can this world give me more of what I want and deserve."

Many days I get to feeling like I own this world. The absolute truth of my brief time here, the reality of my mist, pressures me into believing I need to grab all I can as quickly as I can. The clock is ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Well, the clock is ticking. But the owner of my life, the one who has entrusted it to me - he'll be waiting beyond that final tick. And as the mist evaporates and finally clears and he appears, he won't be asking what did you bring me from the world, he'll be asking how much love did you leave behind.

I know that. Every morning every fiber of me knows that. It's that front door that trips me up - surely that's it. Maybe I'll try crawling out a window today.