Dear Old Friend,
I was warned that this would happen, but I have to say, I
didn’t believe it. Before I retired I
worked at least forty hours a week. This
means that I should now have forty prime hours, plus all of the time I
spent commuting, freed up on my calendar every week, right? These were hours I was going to fill with all
manner of edifying activities; and, once I got past the whole Law of Retirement
mindset, I was back to being excited about the idea of doing things like
walking every day, catching up with old friends, playing with my grandchildren
and writing, to name a few. That list
represents the more enjoyable end of the spectrum, but I was also serious about
my desire to begin methodically sorting through the junk squirreled away in
each room of our home and ruthlessly paring it down.
What has happened instead is that I have spent an inordinate
amount of time figuring out things like how the online bill pay system works; indulging my new passion of finding a cure for, or at least
relief from, every ailment known to mankind through the use of essential oils; preparing food for my husband to take to work, so that he doesn’t keep stopping
for expensive unhealthy food every day; and running all kinds of errands for
people who don’t have forty empty hours on their calendars and are excited to
have found someone who does.
I have also rediscovered the fact that the regular, mundane
household chores, like keeping a clean kitchen, vacuuming, dusting and doing laundry
are not just one and done. No, you have
to spend the same amount of time, day in and day out, doing the same things if
you want to stay on top of it all instead of living like a barbarian and just
letting it go, doing what you can when you can, like I did when I was working!
Trying to live like a normal member of polite society eats up a lot of those
empty hours!
I have found that, although sitting at a desk handling all
kinds of problems all day was mentally exhausting, running around doing
household chores and errands is equally physically and emotionally taxing and most days
I find myself, mid afternoon, fighting the urge to take a nap. A Nap!
I haven’t succumbed to that temptation yet, because I fear it will be
game over if I do.
The problem is, I have yet to go through one single
closet! But I did spend a couple of days
watching my grandsons during Spring Break, which led to a serious discussion
about possible plans for Summer Break since I am now available. That might not be exactly how I pictured it,
but, hey, spending time with my grandsons was definitely on my list!
The bottom line is, somehow I feel like I am just about as
busy as I was when I was working. Don’t
get me wrong, I am greatly enjoying what I am doing, especially in comparison,
but I see that I may never be able to fit in all of the things I thought I was
going to do. The hole has already filled
up.
As I was thinking about this, Aristotle’s theory that nature
abhors a vacuum popped into my head. You
know, the idea that things seemingly can’t remain empty; they will, almost of
necessity, fill up again? And that thought
reminded me, as most things do, about something in scripture. It is a story Jesus told about something
else which was emptied and then filled up again.
The story is found in Luke 11:24-26: “When the unclean spirit has gone out of a
person, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and finding none it
says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’ And when it comes, it
finds the house swept and put in order.
Then it goes and brings seven other spirits more evil than itself, and
they enter and dwell there. And the last
state of that person is worse than the first.”
Many people have taken this story and have used it as the
basis for a whole philosophy of demonology.
I, on the other hand, see it as a very accurate picture of what happens
to any and all of us when we set out upon a moral improvement project. We, with all good intentions, kick out the
offending sin, or bad habit, or unhealthy way of living. We resolve to do better. We throw out all of the processed foods in
the pantry; or the booze; or we put a block on the computer to keep us from
visiting offensive sites; or we remove that one person’s number from our phone;
whatever the behavior is that we are determined to change. Then we tidy up our lives and expect that
will do the trick. Then we gain back all
the weight we lost, plus ten pounds; or, we fall off the wagon and get dragged
down the road, in the mud, face first.
Luke 11 began with Jesus casting out a demon which had
rendered the person mute. Jesus
obviously cared then and cares now about rescuing us from the damage caused by the presence of sin in our
lives, but then he told that story to say there is no permanent solution to sin except his own imputed righteousness and his substitutionary death on the cross. He knew that even if the demons were cast out they would
return, with friends. The casting out of demons was only a temporary fix at
best. The salvation he came to provide was eternal.
Jesus ended chapter 11 with the scathing list of woes for
the Pharisees, all based on the repugnant fact that they were only concerned about keeping up an appearance of goodness.
Theirs was a surface religion; caring about the cleanliness of the
outside of the cup with no concern for the filth on the inside. He finished by
telling them, “Woe to you, experts in the law, because you have taken away the
key to knowledge. You yourselves have
not entered, and you have hindered those who were “entering”. (Luke 11:52)
The key to knowledge which the teachers of the law had taken
away was the promise of a Messiah, a Savior, Christ himself. Instead they presented the people with the false key of moral goodness,
or obedience, by which no one would be able to unlock and walk through the gates into
the Kingdom of God. Sadly, that’s not so
different today, is it?
Regardless of how my retirement hours are filled, or how
many times I flounder in my attempts to be a better person, I am so grateful to
know that I am loved purely on the basis of what my Savior has done for me.
Love Always,
Bonnie
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