16th of November, 2006
Well, it finally caught up to me. I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time on thisspace, and most of it was because I was avoiding my Latin homework which comes at sickenly regular intervals, namely, daily. Due to such avoidances it became necessary for me to attend an extra credit lecture for my aforementioned Latin class. This lecture was done by a proffesor from Georgia State University and pertained to the work she was doing in Carthage, Tunisia (Northeast Africa). Anyway, she was the head of a project that was excavating an old (understatement) cemetery. It was from the late first century.
So there I was, soaking wet (It was pouring tonight, Tornado warnings, the whole nine yards), tired, and inecusably upset with myself for passing up the munchkins and rice krispie treats when I walked in. The lecture was fairly interesting, inasmuch as I could understand not being an archeologist myself. Two-thousand year old gravestones, and eighteen-hundred year old statues of dudes and chics (in exquisite detail and almost always lacking arms) was enough to keep me tuned in (plus I get a three point bump on my grade if I write an accurate paper about it). But about halfway through, something really got to me. My philosophical side kicked in and I was pretty much distracted the rest of the time. So there I am, still all of the things above (I got over the treats), and then up comes a slide with a picture of a skeleton of a child, couldn’t have been older than two, possibly not more than one. I was done. I mean, I can’t imagine anything about what that child’s life was like for the little time it spent on our lovely earth. I know this still happens today, children die, babies die, old people die, everyone dies, but this just stuck me for some reason. What is the difference between that child and I? Why was he (just a guess) born two-thousand years ago, and I was born ninteen? Why do I have the world at my disposal: great country where I can do pretty much whatever my heart desires, amazing family that I wouldn’t trade for the deed to our planet, enough money to buy almost all my wants and certainly the most expensive versions of my needs, a school where I can find a lecture on pretty much anything and feed my thirst for knowledge whenever I want, and friends that I can always count on to do what is needed, and he, he was born to a world where 40% (yes, the zero is supposed to be there) of the children didn’t live past SEVEN YEARS OLD. Why? What’s the difference? Was my spirit a heavenly draft dodger that picked the most oppurtune of times to do my time, and left the tough fight to everyone else?
I can’t reconcile the abundant and overflowing and superfluous blessings that I have recieved to the utter misery that so many live in even to this day. It is astonishing how vast the quality of human life is.
Carthage reigned as a Roman power for upwards of six-hundred years. You can’t walk ten feet without tripping over some piece of archaeological goodness. The United States of America is two-hundred and thirty years old. What will archaeologists be excavating in 2406? Will the U.S. exist? Will our power sustain us through the trials of time? History says no. Maybe the earth won’t be around that much longer anyway. We (Christ-followers) can only hope.
I just figured I’d share this experience with you as I know the intense interest you all have in very, very old children’s bones. So much of life appears arbitrary, and yet most people, if they’re honest, can’t except that. There’s a higher power at work: fate, God, determined actions from the beginning of time. Something’s guiding our time here. Why, besides the fact that it’s true, people are led to believe that anything is in control of this world blows me away. If I wasn’t saved, I’d grab the nearest chaos theory and hold on for dear life. But as it stands, I am saved. Thank you Jesus for my blessings, and thank you for being with the poor, the sick, the needy, the unfortunate, and the dysfunctional thoughout the ages and the ages to come.
Love,
Shaun
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