I’ve a treasury of moments, frozen now, and stored. A freezer full of timesicles I’ve carefully preserved. I love the smell of happiness these memories still hold, and yet I know the beating life in them can never be restored. Each moment past is frozen fast, unchanging to eternity: a monument carved in the stone face of Time, a smile, laughter, a frown. The image of life with it’s breath removed, the death-mask of vibrant Now. As my timesicle collection grows, I understand more and more why the simple act of living a few decades seems to leave humanity looking over our shoulders in wide-eyed amazement at the pace of life. The shock of seeing so many living, breathing moments frozen behind us can’t be easily shaken off. The thought of today’s warmth joining them soon, followed closely by all our tomorrows, can draw the cold air right out of the freezer and encase our hearts in icy fear.
Don’t give in.
The cold fingers of Time may lock up the past, but that doesn’t mean we have to hand him the future early. The warm breath of living Now is here beside us, chest heaving with all the wonder of this moment. Yes, our time here is limited. Yes, our lives are framed like a painting by the hard lines of birth and death. Eventually the art we leave behind will be completed, for better or worse, to hang frozen and unchanging in the gallery of history.
Will anyone see it there?
Do our frozen lives even matter?
Yes. The builder of this gallery carefully selected the exact wall and space for your painting, chose the colours you would use, and the size of the canvas you would create on. Your life is one work in a massive collection that is the magnum opus of the original Artist, shaped together out of millions of parts to tell the story of the universe with every possible colour, shade, and dynamic included. Yes, the past is frozen. Frozen like a statue of a warrior in his moment of triumph, reminding the world of his victory over all the forces of evil. Frozen with the weight and shape of the glory of God, revealed through time and climaxing in the only death that could conquer the power of death forever. And someday, when history itself has run out of breath, the gallery will stand complete and God’s children will roam it’s halls, admire its intricate detail, and finally understand how their own framed and frozen brushstrokes fit in the master plan of the master Artist.
…and live on in the power of Jesus’ resurrection to spend eternity in living, breathing, creating Now.