Accounts

I find hard to tally my accounts.  I don’t like it.  It’s not fun.  It stinks really.  It is much easier to live in a world of my own imagination.  In this world balances remain unchecked, limits are beyond the realm of possibility, and everything seamlessly flows into the other with time.  Obviously my imaginary world is totally out of sync with the real world.  Clearly I should, as an adult, put these foolish things behind me.  Actually, given how the observable actions of others are so in sync with my own, I seem to have a lot of company!  We like this imaginary places.  We live in a virtual world anyways, so how hard is it to reshape things into the way we imagine we want them to be?
 
As I reflect on life I find myself reading an old story.  I recognize someone yet I am not sure I like what happens in the end.  “The Master, God-of-the-Angel-Armies, spoke: ‘Come. Go to this steward, Shebna, who is in charge of all the king's affairs, and tell him: What's going on here?  You're an outsider here and yet you act like you own the place, make a big, fancy tomb for yourself where everyone can see it, making sure everyone will think you're important.  God is about to sack you, to throw you to the dogs.  He'll grab you by the hair, swing you round and round dizzyingly, and then let you go, sailing through the air like a ball, until you're out of sight.  Where you'll land, nobody knows.  And there you'll die, and all the stuff you've collected heaped on your grave.  You've disgraced your master's house!  You're fired—and good riddance!’”  (Isaiah 22.15-19) 
 
Your story and mine remains unfinished.  We hold the freedom to write the story in ways uniquely ours.  What will it be?  Which accounts will we use?  Is our touch in the community one which sucks the life away, holding it for our own, or filling those around us with something greater.  Our freedom and choice remains, for now.