Kevin and I spent the weekend on the North Coast of
Jamaica. Kevin had a work function and I
went along for the oceanfront view and beachside piña coladas. We stayed at the Ritz, wined and dined on
escargot and other unknown delicacies (you know you’re someplace fancy when you
can’t pronounce what you’re eating) and brushed shoulders with some of the
biggest names in the Caribbean tourism industry.
On Saturday night we attended a gala. Kevin wore his three piece suit from our wedding;
complete with handmade cufflinks made out of shoe string, as he forgot his
actual cufflinks in Kingston (The ingenuity of that boy still surprises me). I wore high heels for the first time in years
(literally). I am not a high heel girl…I
wore slippers on my wedding day; if that gives you any insight into the
priority I place on comfort. Prior to
the gala, I spent an entire day shopping for a comfortable pair of heels, and
quickly realized this was an oxymoron.
My feet are still recovering.
The gala was hosted by the Caribbean Hotel and Tourism
Association. They were celebrating fifty
years since their inception, and honored the lives that had led and influenced
along the way. The Association’s first
president opened the evening. He was an
old man — I’d guess in his late eighties.
His hair was white, his fingers arthritic, and his skin like a prune. When it became obvious he couldn’t climb the
two stairs leading up to the stage on his own, people rushed to his aid and
quite literally lifted him up and positioned him in front of the podium. He was surprisingly articulate and verbose,
and his eyes lit up as he relived his golden years. The sad part was…nobody really cared. As his speech dragged on far over his
allotted time, people simply stopped listening.
There was a low rumble in the crowd, as guests carried on private
conversations at their dinner tables, oblivious to this former president’s
attempt to prove he had once been someone worth listening to.
As I sat in my chair, wondering if this man realized his
years of power and prestige were a thing of the past; I felt a common thread
between him and all mankind: We’re all
in the process of fading away. We may be
in different chapters, but the book ends the same for everyone. And the closer we get to the end, the more we
realize how short the book is and how fast the time’s gone.
One day (sooner than we think) we’ll all be in the final
chapter. Our beauty will fade. Our strength will fade. Our power will fade. Sitting at the gala, I felt an urgency to
live for something that will not fade.
To spend my time and energy investing in things that will outlast this
life: A gentle spirit, a kind heart, a
generous soul. I want unfading
beauty. I want treasures that will last
forever.
It’s something I’m working on—or rather, God’s working on in
me: Striving for beauty in my inner self, and investing in treasures that can’t
be destroyed. It’s a challenging lesson
to master, especially in a culture that embraces the external. Though beauty and power are fleeting, they
are still alluring, and it takes boldness and great faith to resist the world’s
charms.
So here is a toast to the courageous among us who pursue
unfading beauty and fix their eyes on unseen treasures they may never receive
on this earth. May I be counted among
them.
Do not store up for
yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves
break in and steal. But store up for
yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where
thieves do not break in and steal. For
where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Matthew 6: 19-21
