Where's my mountaintop? I wonder...

At 45, I thought I'd have more answers by now. Turns out I've got more questions than I used to have, and most of the old questions remain unanswered. Questions like: What do I want to be when I grow up? What will our lives be like after the kids are gone? How many licks does it take to the get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? Whatever happened to Spandau Ballet?

I see people struggle with some pretty hairy stuff, and sometimes, not always, but sometimes, the resolution seems startlingly obvious. And then I watch them do the opposite. And then I listen to them complain about their lot in life, how God has let them down, if he's even interested in them, and never once do they suspect that they are their own worst enemy.

I wonder if our contact with people at the store is making any difference to them, to their lives. I wonder if all the hours and hours and hours I spend studying, preparing sermons, counseling and leading accomplishes anything other than making me unreasonably tired and cranky. I wonder if I would be doing it all even if I didn't get paid.

I wonder, if offered a small cabin on a mountaintop in the Great Smoky Mountains, all expenses paid for life, how quickly I could pack. I wonder if that's my version of mansion that Jesus is preparing for me...I sure hope so.

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