When Worlds Collide

      There's not just one world-not really. There are billions upon billions, a world for each person who has breathed, thought, believed, doubted, loved. If you imagine the thousands of years earth has spun, that's a lot of people. Just right now, there are over seven billion souls. Seven billion worlds.

     Yes, worlds. We all may look at the same stars each night, but even those we see differently. We use lenses that are tinted by our own personal disposition, experiences, and beliefs. Those qualities are so strikingly different from soul to soul that it's like living in different universes. I mean, I dance in grocery stores all the time. It embarasses my little brother (backwards, I know), but I can't help it. I wonder how many people I dance by who see my vibrant world in blacks and greys. I wonder how many souls I've brushed up against who aren't here anymore because they lost hope.

            I snapped this photo at the San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo because of the man in the booth. At least sixty, working a balloon dart booth with a traveling rodeo...not exactly the American dream. How different his story must be from mine, my story of friendships and relative wealth and opportunities! Maybe he had that, once, and lost it through bad choices. Maybe he regrets that now. Or maybe he has always struggled financially. Maybe he grew up without a father. I don't know; pretending I did would be judgmental and pretentious. But chances are he sees the world very differently than I do.

    Christians tend to see things in a similar light because we all "have the mind of Christ" (1st Cor. 2:16). But even then, we have different stories and burdens that we carry to the Cross. And even after Christ loosens the chains of sin, its residue will cling to us until the day this fallen life ends. I go through dark places sometimes with my own sin. Imagine how much darker those pits are for those who have no escape! In a non-negative way, our personalities shape our worlds individually, even with the united mind of Christ. Different things make us laugh and cry, and although we are called to love all men, there is no denying we love some more than others.

    Even though there's this plethora of parallel worlds, we can only BE in one, our own. There's no way to jump the borders into someone else's. Yes, we can empathize. Yes, we can get to know a person quite well. But we will never know the deepest parts of their hearts; only God is a soul-searcher. And we can never become them. I have my parent's DNA and I've been raised with my parent's constant influence, but I am not my parents. "By the grace of God, I am what I am" (1st Cor. 5:10). What we can do, though, is catch glimpses. And based on those glimpses, we can reach out and touch someone else's world.

    My younger cousin made me this sweet picture. Read the poem! It awoke me to a reality: I mean something to her. In her world, I am important. I never grasped that before. It's frightening that I've touched her world without knowing it, without even thinking about the influence I want to have. Glimpsing myself from her perspective has made me wonder: who else am I impacting without knowing it? There are people in my life that I would do anything for; am I that to someone? Most importantly, when they look at me, do they see the love of God?

    So I challenge you: try to catch a glimpse of someone else's world. Try to reach outside of your own soul and touch theirs. It may be painful, seeing from their view. But I know I'm the happiest when I'm not thinking of myself, and that only happens when I'm thinking of how I can point others to Christ. I can think of very few things more beautiful than choosing to see, and choosing to love.

Wheels and Winds and Wandering Souls

There’s a sign tied to the ride’s green gate. It’s fluttering and hard to read, but I finally make out “Ferris Wheel Closed Due to High Winds”. I try to ask the man running the Ferris Wheel if it will open again soon, but he is inside the shut gate, eating a sandwich that he appears very absorbed in. Sierra starts walking away, but I stay rooted and she’s holding my hand, so she has to stay, too. I stare at the sign and wish for the high winds to settle down to a nice, gentle breeze.

     I feel Sierra backing in to me. An old man is trying to grab her hand. I pull her close, but don’t bother running away. I could knock the man over, that shows how frail he is. And he’s old-seventy or so. His dark, wrinkly skin hangs on his arms more like a loose-fitting jacket than skin. He stretches his gnarled, trembling hand out to mine. The fingers are twisted in directions fingers were never meant to go. Some of his nails are an inch long; others are broken off in rough, jagged lines. I gently push the withered hand away. He grins at me, a toothless grin, and then totters off. I feel heavy inside.

        Once he had been as innocent as people get, only crying and sleeping and eating and wanting to be held and loved. I wonder what brought him from that to this, stumbling around drunk at a carnival in rags and bare feet. Did he choose a hard life for himself, or had he never known anything else? And if he had never known anything else-maybe his father had beaten him, or maybe he didn’t know his father at all-then why am I walking around in new shoes with a wad of bills in my pocket? Why him and not me? I try to follow the weather-beaten man with my eyes, but he is lost in the back-and-forth swarm of people.

      Suddenly the carnival’s neon colors seem garish and gaudy. There’s no enchantment to the music-box tunes or painted ponies or shouts of the balloon man, and the popcorn smell feels overdone. All I see is the grey concrete underneath me and the faces going by. So many faces. So many souls. And so, so much wandering.