Inside our bathroom medicine cabinet is a slot labeled "razor blades." The opening exists as a repository for the old style flat, doubled-edged blades of days gone by. When finished with the blade, you removed it from the razor and slipped it through the opening. From there it fell down into the wall, not to be seen again until either the demolition or remodeling of the house.
Or, until our current circumstance, wherein a leak in our foundation made necessary a refitting of all incoming water pipes. This led to opening the wall and actually viewing many of the discarded blades of the past, a sight that I never thought we'd behold (we salvaged one as a memento to be placed in some sort of protective case and hung on Christmas trees to come). We're a nostalgic family, but I must be honest that I never dreamed a rusty razor blade would be included in our fond memories.
We know some of the history of our home, including that of the owners who would have lived here during the days of double-edged blades. It makes me wonder about them, and the lives they lived. In my mind's eye, I can see Mr. Clikas, standing at the bathroom sink shaving, and then removing and inserting a spent blade into the discard slot. I wonder if he thought about the blades, and whether someone would one day have opportunity to discover them. Maybe, maybe not. One thing is certain. It's a very different world from the one in which those blades last saw the light of day.
"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh" (Ecclesiastes 1:4).
In younger days, the hands of time seem to move as if mired in glue. As we grow older, however, the passage of time greases the gears, and we more and more feel our earthly days slipping away. Even more, we sense change in ourselves and in the world. Some alterations leave us grateful; I surely wouldn't want to shave with the old style blades! Some, however, make us sad. Most of us with a few years under our belts are presently feeling such discomfort in significant ways. It doesn't seem that long ago when we lived in a nation and culture wherein an umbrella of Judeo-Christian influence pervaded many of the important arenas of life. This is largely gone, no less than modern bathroom cabinets need not include a razor blade discard slot. The loss feels palpable, and we rightly mourn and prayerfully hope that somehow we may someday return to the beliefs and mores that guided our forefathers. It doesn't seem likely, does it? Thus, we will likely have to adjust ourselves to life as it presently exists in order to truly live, rather than pine for days that may not come again.
Our Heavenly Father is prepared for every contingency of our lives. He sees them coming, and nothing confronts us that does not find Him waiting to be abundantly more than we need Him to be. This we must believe in times such as these, first because it is true, and then because longing for days gone by wastes the time and opportunity of this day. What will our Lord do to reveal His surpassing glory in a culture that seeks, futilely, to exclude Him? How brightly will His light shine in the darkness of these days? Where will the Lord Jesus display the greatness of His redeeming power within the devil's very backyard? Those who refuse to pine will be those with eyes to see and hearts to expect the work of God where it seems it could not be manifest. Rusty blades, discarded long ago, make me think of such things, and give me hope.
"The hope of the righteous shall be gladness."
(Proverbs 10:28)
Or, until our current circumstance, wherein a leak in our foundation made necessary a refitting of all incoming water pipes. This led to opening the wall and actually viewing many of the discarded blades of the past, a sight that I never thought we'd behold (we salvaged one as a memento to be placed in some sort of protective case and hung on Christmas trees to come). We're a nostalgic family, but I must be honest that I never dreamed a rusty razor blade would be included in our fond memories.
We know some of the history of our home, including that of the owners who would have lived here during the days of double-edged blades. It makes me wonder about them, and the lives they lived. In my mind's eye, I can see Mr. Clikas, standing at the bathroom sink shaving, and then removing and inserting a spent blade into the discard slot. I wonder if he thought about the blades, and whether someone would one day have opportunity to discover them. Maybe, maybe not. One thing is certain. It's a very different world from the one in which those blades last saw the light of day.
"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh" (Ecclesiastes 1:4).
In younger days, the hands of time seem to move as if mired in glue. As we grow older, however, the passage of time greases the gears, and we more and more feel our earthly days slipping away. Even more, we sense change in ourselves and in the world. Some alterations leave us grateful; I surely wouldn't want to shave with the old style blades! Some, however, make us sad. Most of us with a few years under our belts are presently feeling such discomfort in significant ways. It doesn't seem that long ago when we lived in a nation and culture wherein an umbrella of Judeo-Christian influence pervaded many of the important arenas of life. This is largely gone, no less than modern bathroom cabinets need not include a razor blade discard slot. The loss feels palpable, and we rightly mourn and prayerfully hope that somehow we may someday return to the beliefs and mores that guided our forefathers. It doesn't seem likely, does it? Thus, we will likely have to adjust ourselves to life as it presently exists in order to truly live, rather than pine for days that may not come again.
Our Heavenly Father is prepared for every contingency of our lives. He sees them coming, and nothing confronts us that does not find Him waiting to be abundantly more than we need Him to be. This we must believe in times such as these, first because it is true, and then because longing for days gone by wastes the time and opportunity of this day. What will our Lord do to reveal His surpassing glory in a culture that seeks, futilely, to exclude Him? How brightly will His light shine in the darkness of these days? Where will the Lord Jesus display the greatness of His redeeming power within the devil's very backyard? Those who refuse to pine will be those with eyes to see and hearts to expect the work of God where it seems it could not be manifest. Rusty blades, discarded long ago, make me think of such things, and give me hope.
"The hope of the righteous shall be gladness."
(Proverbs 10:28)
