relevancy

It is the fear of every man, or perhaps the only fear, to be irrelevant. every artist strives to edge his name in history with a thousand strokes, and every statesman paints visionary pictures with charisma and oral artistry hoping only to survive as a footnote in the journals of mankind. if a writer loses his last reader, a musician relinquishes his last listener, one's existence, one's lifework, would be like sand in an hourglass, time slipping in a vacuum in deafening silence. you can scold me, hit me, hate me if you choose, but don't ignore me, and remember me till the end of time.

yet as time trots away at a steady pace, inevitably each man's relevancy is melting away like an iceberg. memory is like a river bank that over time, every drop of water is washed away by water pouring down downstream. all the joy and happiness, pain and sorrow, fades like rocks by the seashore, perpetually retreating daily and monthly and yearly until there is no more. then the question of when who did what at where will be meaningless. irrelevant. through forces of nature, once a great painting has been retored to a blank canvas. and the river continues to flow, the ocean continues to roar. not a trace was recorded, not a soul was disturbed.

but is that really so? behold, there is an audience of One. From the beginning, He watches. Till the end, He listens. We have only now: past is already gone and will never come back, and future is yet to come. Yet He has always been, is, and always will be. Through him I am made relevant. My heart beats once again.