For we have brought nothing into the world,

so we cannot take anything out of it either.

I Timothy 6:7

There’s nothing quite so helpless as a new born baby. He (she) is totally at the mercy of those who are caring for him. If his caretakers are loving, kind, compassionate, conscientious, tender, and gentle with him, his world turns at an acceptable, smooth, steady pace. Take any of those six things away from that infant, and his world starts rocking–he cries, and tries to get someone to love him, be kind to him, have compassion on him, wait on him patiently, hold him tenderly, and speak to him gently. He has nothing in his hands (which he has not as yet discovered can hold things) and he doesn’t have a single bag of “stuff” that he calls his own.

But wait. There is someone else very much like this new born babe: An old person who depends solely on those around him to care for him. In the same way, he needs a loving, kind, compassionate, industrious, tender, gentle person. And that pretty well sums up his needs. He doesn’t have anything in his hands either–not because he hasn’t discovered those hands, but because he has discovered that he can’t hold anything any longer. He may have two or three bags of “stuff” that he used to cling to tenaciously, but that “bag of stuff” has no meaning to him any longer and he probably can’t even remember what’s in the bag!

We shouldn’t be surprised at this turn of events. Timothy tells us that this is what to expect: We brought nothing into the world, so we cannot take anything out of it either.

There have been cultures that buried a person’s most precious possessions with him, believing that these would bring happiness to that person in the world to which he had moved when he left everything behind.

“Things” make life here on Planet Earth more comfortable, they give us security, they give us an identity, and they enhance life with more “fun.” There’s nothing wrong with that. It is just that I must realize that my “things” bring very temporary comfort, questionable security, a fragile identity, and the character of “fun” changes with every year added to our personal calendar.

I find it difficult at times to accept the truth about Anabel’s life as it is now. There are things I used to have a passion for–boating, skiing, hiking, hitting the ball back and forth at the tennis court (I hesitate to call what I did tennis), biking, outside activities of any kind, working up a good sweat out in the yard, painting all the rooms in the house and probably tackling the house, too! New Year’s Eve meant staying up all night with friends playing silly games and finishing the celebration with bacon and eggs at someone’s house for breakfast! My definition of “fun” at this time in my life is very limited–and don’t make any smart remarks–you’re heading in the same direction! It is New Year’s Eve and we’re usually with the crowd until at least 12:01! Tonight I am very content being here in my warm house, pajamas on, and ready to crawl into bed around ten or eleven and read for just a while. That can’t be! Not me! Anabel? Isn’t that unbelievable?

Oh well, I knew this would happen–Timothy (and hundreds of others in the same boat with me) told me this was inevitable!

But not to get alarmed. I have seen the futility of keeping watch over my bag of stuff; I have Someone taking care of me who is the epitome of kindness, tenderness, gentleness, is aware ofmy every need, and Who loves me dearly. I have an identity that cannot be taken away from me even if I’m in a comatose state in the nursing home, and I am going to be moving one of these days to a place that He has prepared just for me! Do you see why I can say–“Don’t fret! It’s okay! Everything is going to be all right!”

Thanks, Timothy, for the words of wisdom that you penned those years ago. As I live on this Planet Earth with all the other people, I’m finding your words to be totally true! And thank You, Lord, for loving me and taking such good care of me. I anticipate seeing what You have fixed up–just for me!