Lessons From the Archives

At work, I am known as one who enjoys collecting, categorizing, labeling, filing and retrieving bits of information... but tends to get a little sassy-mouthed when wrangled into moving my precious archives toward destruction. A pack-rat librarian of sorts, you might say.

Nevertheless, in these days of increasing regulation of what can and can't be kept, (and how, how long, and for what reasons), it's getting tougher and tougher to be a pack-rat. Recently, I surrendered, sucked it up, held my breath, and... went through a box of old project folders.

I've been in project management for quite a few years now and have accumulated quite a stash of project notes and remnants. The existence of these old maps to current reality is comforting to me in the following ways:

1. They contain my original thought and decision-making processes. (I can remember why we did something).
2. They recall project participants, so I know who might remember some detail if I can't.
3. My email has to be archived much more vigorously; it's nice to know the paper trail is there just in case.
4. Proof that, yes, we actually have done a certain project three times already in the past decade. I'm not crazy.
5. Provision of mental or structural templates for similar projects going forward.
6. Proof that something has been changed, reinvented, or improved - restored - because I was there.

But about #6... know what I discovered? It hit me when all but 3 folders sprawled dead on the floor after going through the entire box... It's all temporary. In the grand scheme of life, most everything I touch is just a small stepping stone to pass over on the way to the next stone, making my way across the river. Does that stone have to stay there in order for others to cross behind me? No - they'll make their own way. Does it have to stay there in order for me to be safe moving forward? No - it only provides psychological security in looking back at where I've come from. Time blankets our past in layer upon layer of obscurity; even in unwrapping those layers, few things remain truly useful.

I have a plaque in my house that Grandma used to keep in hers: "Only one life; 't'will soon be past. Only what's done for Christ will last." True, I think. We just can't get over-zealous about thinking we're in charge of determining what will end up lasting and what won't. I know there's eternal stuff that happens when I'm at at work; but most of it isn't stuff that will be found in a project box a few years from now.

I want what I do down here to matter. Don't we all want that? How will the "project boxes" of my life have meaning in eternity? How will they not stay buried under layer after layer of dusty time? Because what is done for Him, through Him, BY Him will last. If it rests in shadow, He will, one day, uncover it with great Joy and celebration.

What do I do that falls into that eternal category? That's my own private mental post for tonight. You too - think about it... what do you do? What will last? What good do you hope will be remembered? In whose strength is that thing accomplished? Then let it reach beyond ourselves... and let it be done in Love.