What I consider to be the present as of this writing will someday be the distant past.
I've never been this age before. In twenty years, Lord willing I live that long, I can look back on the decisions I'm making now, and on the perspective I had on the world and my circumstances in it, and I'll have some context; I'll be able to name the mistakes and the successes.
That's why they say hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?
When I'm 46 rather than 26, I'll understand better what an impact my having taken Josiah porcupine hunting today had on how he thought of himself, or the world, or me, or porcupines.
I'll understand how choices I'm making now on how to manage money set my family up for either more economic uncertainty, or else more peace of mind.
It'll be clear to me how the relationships and disciplines I forged at work helped me to build this or that kind of career and skill set, and how that career opened up opportunities or limited them for me and mine.
There are some things I'm sure I'll regret not having figured out sooner: people-pleasing, humility, how to appropriately and respectfully give and receive rebukes, how to tend to details without losing sight of the thoughts and feelings of those around me.
I could go on.
I regret those things now; why wouldn't I still regret them in 20 years?
I've been thinking about what I'll leave to my sons some day. My example, what I've taught them, memories of time spent with me - beyond that, what's certain?
If I left them $1 million, would that be enough to hang a hat on? What about a huge property with thousands of acres? What about a profitable company? The wealth could be squandered, the property might be neglected, and any profitable company could be mismanaged or driven out of business by trickery or exceptional competition.
I consider myself a writer; perhaps I overestimate my ability to write well. But what if I left the boys a stack of books I'd written, or what if they were given a trunk full of my journals? Surely my writings could sit in obscurity, or be hidden away as amateurish or embarrassing, or they might be misunderstood or misinterpreted. In such cases, is there any lasting glory to my having written in the first place?
The fact is, despite my anxiety over potentially amounting to nothing in life, my self-worth and enduring legacy depend on more than just being able to generate a paycheck with a high dollar figure, or my ability to pass along significant property and wealth, or my ability to curry favor with the masses.
What if I become President of the United States some day? Would that mean my life was a success? Surely not, if taking a glance at others who've held that office is any indication. Often, there are nearly as many who hate the chief executive as there are those who admire him; and who but historians and professors can even name all the presidents who served in the 1800's, much less tell you the decisions each made and how impactful those decisions were on the world? So it will be in the 23rd century, I suppose, that there will be as little memory of who all occupied the oval office in the 21st as we have now for those who served in the 19th. That is, assuming our political system survives into the 23rd century - quite a big assumption, if you ask me, given the way things are going now.
Is there anything I could say, or build, or do which will certainly have lasting value?
It's impossible to say whether my great, great grandchildren will learn my name, or take any interest in what I've done. What's more, it's difficult to say whether they should.
"A good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children,
but the sinner's wealth is laid up for the righteous."
- Proverbs 13:22
That passage became a prominent one in my self-evaluation and planning a few years ago when I heard Pastor Mark Driscoll of Mars Hill Church in Seattle, WA talk about the biblical call for men to take responsibility for themselves, their families, their churches, their communities, etc. Between when I first heard mention of Proverbs 13:22 in that context and just yesterday, I think I've interpreted this passage to mean that if I'm a good man, I'll make sure my grandchildren have some sort of money or wealth set aside for them in my will.
That's probably still true, but just yesterday, as my thoughts wandered the way they typically do, another possible interpretation became apparent.
What if the inheritance a good man leaves to his grandchildren is the good example he set for them to follow, and the good upbringing he gave their parents, and the fruit of the good decisions he made which caused a chain-reaction of blessings for them as well?
For instance: what if the inheritance I leave to the children of Josiah David Mullet, Elihu James Mullet, Solomon Emmanuel Mullet, and Daniel Joseph Mullet (etc.) is that I read the Scriptures to their fathers before bed? Or what if the inheritance to my grandchildren is that my wife and I steadfastly committed to educating their fathers at home? What if, regardless of whether I go to my grave an elderly pauper, I'll leave a legacy behind which is worth immeasurably more than a plump bank account, a grand mansion, or a famous name?
It's too easy to allow myself to be tricked into thinking I'll be worth only so much as the money I accumulate and keep. And, by extension, since the money comes from work, I'll be worth only so much as the job I'm able to land and keep and advance in.
What's infinitely more significant than missing 10 hours worth of overtime in my paycheck two weeks from now is losing my temper when the boys make a mistake or are behaving in an undisciplined way; what's far more pressing is that I don't make up foolish, unjust, oppressive rules they couldn't hope to follow, or which they would follow to their detriment; what's way more important is not setting a bad example by my own attitude, habits, relationships, speech, choices, etc.
Lord help me.
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