bucket list

A good friend recently surprised me with a journal of sorts, in which every entry has been predetermined. It satisfies my obsession with structure, unlike my actual journal, which is more like a jumbled mess of incoherent thoughts. Only once in a blue moon do I have those serious introspective reflections. (There was actually a blue moon this year.)

Today's list is the bucket list-- the list of things I want to do before I die. Only that's not what it says. The exact words are, "List the things you must do before you die" (emphasis added).

I appreciated the irony, seeing as some people think the world is going to end today. I don't. (I don't think it's going to end for at least another few centuries, unless the Church starts caring about missions more. I think Christians are supposed to be hastening Jesus' return, not wasting their time trying to predict the day. But I digress.) Nevertheless, it seemed like an appropriate list for today.

You see, I used to have a bucket list. I wrote it the week after my high school graduation because I had so many regrets accumulate over those four short years. Some time later, I threw it away. I've written a lot of stupid journal entries over the years, many of which I hope no one ever reads. But for some reason, that list was the only entry I ever felt compelled to tear out and throw away.

It wasn't like it was an entirely nonsensical list; there were arguably worthwhile pursuits. Like sponsor a child. Go on a medical mission. Buy a new kitchen for my mom. But those were far outnumbered by the stupid items. Like complete a 2000-piece puzzle. And lots of travel. Maybe I've just been reading too much of Randy Alcorn, but I now realize how those plans for traveling were so inconsistent with Christian beliefs. If I believe in eternity and a new heaven and a new earth, why should I waste my time flying around in crowded airplanes to see places that have been marred by human hands? Why not just wait until I can teleport and see everything in its full splendor and majesty?

Earlier this semester, I told my friend that I didn't understand why God chose Israel. They were so hard-headed and arrogant, I quipped. "How could anyone possibly be that stupid?" I'd asked. Looking back now, I am amused and slightly appalled at the irony. I am just as sinful, just as arrogant, just as slow to learn, just as quick to forget. God chose Israel for the same reason he chose me. The same reason he chose any human being at all-- because he is a God of grace.

A few days ago, a friend shared the story of the Parthian shot:

"Tomorrow, there will be an archery competition to find out the best archer," Drona said. "When the sun climbs over the horizon, be ready with your bows and arrows."

The students polished their bows. They sharpened their arrows. Next morning they gathered in the yard. Glossy bows and pointed arrows gleamed in the sun. The wind was still but the students' hearts fluttered with excitement. Drona stepped out. In his hands was a bird made of clay. He laid it on a tree far from them.

"See that clay bird perched on the tree ahead of us? Aim at its eye," he said. Then he called the first student. The student plucked an arrow from the quiver, placed it on the bow, and pulled the string. "What do you see ahead of you?" Drona asked. "I see the sun, the clouds, the trees," the student replied as he released the string. The arrow shot forward and landed yards away from the tree.

The second student took his position. He plucked an arrow from his quiver, placed it on the bow, and pulled the string. "What do you see ahead of you?" Drona asked. "I see the tree, the branches, the leaves," the student replied as he released the string. The arrow shot forward and landed near the roots of the tree.

The next student came forward, plucked an arrow from his quiver, placed it on the bow, and pulled the string. "What do you see ahead of you?" Drona asked. "I see the bird, its legs, its wings," the student replied as he let the string go. The arrow shot forward and grazed the wings of the bird.

Finally it was Arjuna's turn. He plucked an arrow from his quiver, placed it on the bow, and pulled the string. "What do you see ahead of you?" Drona asked. "I see the eye of the bird," Arjuna replied. "What else do you see, Arjuna?" Drona asked. "Nothing. I see only the round black eye of the bird," Arjuna replied as he released the string. The arrow shot forward with a swoosh. It pierced the center of the eye of the clay bird.

By the second student, I'd figured out the moral and the ending. But this in no way diminished the significance of the story. It still drove home the conviction that in the years intervening between this one and the one during which I trashed that list, I've lost focus. I don't think I've ever had that perfect, singular focus, but there was a time when it was closer to the target than it is now.

As I reflect on this and other recent events, I realize this list is not going to be a list. Because there's only one target. There's only one thing I must do before I die: please Jesus.

There are a lot of lists in this book that I wish I could write more for. But I hope this list never grows for me. I hope it never expands beyond what is truly important. And even though it's not a list if there's only one item, it's an important one to reflect on regularly. It's important to think about death, because we don't know any better when we're going to die than when the world's really going to end.