It’s been a long time since I posted anything in this blog… probably because I have more blogs than are reasonable for a single person, but that’s beside the point.
With #100DaysofHannah finished, and less urgency for constant content with little respect to quality, it would seem I have more time to think, ponder, meditate, contemplate – all the good things in life. Whether that changes the direction or frequency of my posts on this blog is yet to be determined, but frankly, that is not the point of this post.
Rather, tonight’s post stems from a question that came to mind as I was considering potential plans for the coming weeks:
If I were to die tonight (or in the very near future), what would I be remembered for? What would my legacy be? And, is that who I want to be remembered as?
I suppose with that introduction I should make a few disclaimers:
First, no, I am not considering taking my own life, so y’all can put down your phones and breathe.
Second, I’ll admit, discussing death can seem morbid. And if it bothers you, I won’t be offended if you stop reading now.
If I’m honest, death is something that I have contemplated for most of my life.
Maybe it was a doctor’s suspicion of a condition that could result in sudden premature death.
Maybe it was the stories that I read, in which, for some inexplicable reason the main characters always lost a loved one.
Maybe it was the depression that I fought for years, believing that one day it would overpower me.
Whatever the cause, life has never been my expectation.
While I would love to say that this has significantly impacted my perspective of life, I’m not fully convinced that it is true, as tonight was the first time that I truly contemplated death in light of impact and legacy.
Which brings me again to the question:
If I were to die tonight, what would my legacy be?
For the last several years, I have sought to spread joy – simply to bring a smile to the face of others, to make them feel seen and valued, to show them they are loved. If I’m honest, my attempts are feeble at best, as I run from vulnerability, seek my own importance, and lash out in insecurity.
But even on my best days, does it matter?
Does any of it matter?
What difference does it make if I’m a “happy person” if the people I come in contact with do not see Christ in me?
What legacy am I seeking, if not that He be glorified in me?
I’ll admit, I don’t have answers. I don’t know how to get it right. I don’t even really know where to start – except at His throne of mercy and grace, where I long to one day bow before Him, only to hear Him say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”