Choices

Eternity has been weighing heavy on my heart today. I don't mean to imply that it's a burden; it's the closeness of it that gives it such weight. I don't know why I can feel it so much more deeply than I did yesterday. Maybe it's the fact that I left work this afternoon and could feel a hint of spring in the air- My steps were lighter as I felt the promise of a brighter season in the works.

I attended an event at the art museum tonight. What I found interesting about the evening was this: All the art that was discussed has value because of time. They are priceless, beautiful, intricate works of art with great history attached to them. But the art, at the end of the day, is still just stuff. It will not last. The stories do. And the fact that the history has more value than the object itself is part of what has me thinking about eternity.

I missed a turn when leaving the museum, so I ended up driving a different way home. I drove through the part of town where I almost had my first apartment. I started to wonder what my life would be like now had I chosen to live there instead of at the Lion's Head, where I ended up. A seemingly benign decision like choosing an apartment can have a huge impact. You see, I met most of the friends that I have in Omaha through my church. I chose my church rather randomly out of the phone book. It was really close to that apartment, and the service was early enough that I'd be out in time to meet up with Michaela that first Sunday afternoon to go see Harry Potter. If Michalea and I had not planned to go at 1:00 that day, my life right now might be completely different.

And then I thought about Ann Pleiss. My freshman year at Mount Mercy, Ann and I became friends initially over a shared love for the actor Kyle Chandler and ultimately over a shared love for words and for drama. She is the big sister I never had. After she graduated, I would regularly come to Omaha to visit her, and we would go to Shakespeare on the Green, stroll around the Old Market, and sit in her parents' hot tub. When I was searching for something meaningful to do over the summer between my junior and senior years, she suggested I apply to intern at the place she'd spent her previous two summers. That place was the Arts Council. If it wasn't for Ann Pleiss, I highly doubt I ever would have visited Omaha, let alone moved here.

So then I started thinking about how I even ended up at Mount Mercy in the first place. I got something in the mail from them and readily dismissed it, thinking of it as nothing more than a Catholic school. But Iowa does a thing called Private College Week every August. If I visited three schools during the week, I would have my admission fees waived for all of them. I had arranged to visit Coe and Cornell already. My job made it difficult for me to get away to any place outside of the Cedar Rapids area, so I reluctantly agreed to add Mount Mercy to the list. I distinctly remember talking to Mom in the parking lot before the tour and saying, "Now you know I'm not going to go here..." Yeah. Right.

There's a part of me that understands, at least on some level, why people don't believe in God. But it doesn't take long for me to be utterly astounded by such unbelief. Ecclesiastes 3:11 reads, "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." The Kingdom is written on our hearts, and it's becoming more and more alive each and every day. Every day I see evidence that God is real and that God is good in my relationships, in my work, and in my community.The other morning I read one of my favorite chapters, Psalm 139: "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb... All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be" (v. 13, 16).

It makes me think of my dad's best friend, Paul Nickle (not to be confused with my friend, the infamous Paul Nichols). Paul Nickle grew up with my dad in North Royalton, Ohio. For whatever reason, he chose to go to college at the University of Iowa. In Iowa, he met and eventually married this girl named Linda. Linda worked at the Amana Museum with my mom. My dad decided to make the trek to Iowa City to visit Paul. Paul and Linda decided to invite my mom along. And the rest, as they say, is history.If Paul Nickle had not gone to the University of Iowa, Natalie, Nancy and I would not exist.

The seemingly random choices that we make show me that not only is God real, but He cares about the tiniest details. The details of the day- the encouraging conversation I had with my co-worker Deb, the guitar riff on the CD in my car, the pictures Aroea sent of baby Jonas, the brief spurt of rain drops that hit my windshield as I drove home- all remind me that I am, even now, living in the midst of eternity.