A Random Observation

So. I thought this blog post would be about teaching for the first time at an actual writing conference instead of online or at my local writers group. But when I got home, I realized I had taken zero pictures—and I hate doing a blog post without pictures! Suffice it to say, I had a wonderful time at the Permian Basin Writers Workshop in Midland, TX. I was terrified to teach in front of students who actually paid to be there, but I found it not nearly as intimidating as I’d imagined. And several students told me how much they appreciated what I’d taught.

Since I had no pictures to stretch out a post about that weekend, I was at a loss as to what story I could tell you today. I had nothing as late as yesterday morning. But as a friend and I sat on the park benches in front of our building drinking coffee and catching up on our weekends, we found ourselves in an interesting situation.

We suddenly realized the small “park” area in our cul-de-sac was being overrun with people. Then we noticed the fire truck at the end of the street. Whether a drill or a fire alarm that got tripped, it became obvious that the building across the street from where we live—the newly opened building of Facebook offices—was being evacuated.

My friend and I, both in our 50s, sat fascinated, observing the people streamed from every exit. We noticed not a graying head among them, very few lines marring the faces. Every employee looked to be the ages of our kids. Most of them exited the building holding their laptops, though some simply had coffee in hand. Others held laptops open, working as they walked, plopping down on the nearest bench, attention completely on their screen.

A majority of the people crossed the small footbridge, but others mingled on the benches around my friend and me. Then people in fluorescent vests with titles like “floor captain” came along, announcing that all Facebook employees needed to cross the footbridge so they could get a headcount of their departments.

A simple request, really. The footbridge was right there. Just a short walk to the other side. That was it. And yet all around us there was resistance. One girl sat down across from us with her laptop. My friend told her where they were asking the Facebook employees to go. She just looked at us as if we were speaking another language and proceeded to work until one of the floor captains confronted her directly. Even then it took some coaxing.

Others escaped into a nearby restaurant as these poor people put in charge of making sure everyone got accounted for tried to shepherd them to the correct location. It was truly like herding cats!

I know in every generation there are those who think the rules don’t apply to them, but it was a bit startling to see that play out in front of our eyes that morning. So many millennials. So many who listened to the instructions and simply ignored them. In fact, it made me wonder how many hadn’t left the building at all!

The procedures had been set in place for their safety. Likely most of those ignoring the procedures felt they weren’t in any danger. And that day they weren’t. Nothing bad happened to those who skirted the instructions. But what would happen next time?

And then it occurred to me, isn’t that how we all act toward God sometimes? We deem ourselves not in any danger so we ignore God’s laws. When we do as we please and don’t see any adverse effect on our lives, we determine it didn’t take any difference. So instead of acknowledging our self-sufficiency and sin, we pat ourselves on the back for not having to do what everyone else had to do. For circumventing the rules.

The fire truck left. The employees began their trek back to work.
As my friend and I made our way back to our homes in the building across the street, I once again examined my own heart, for you are never too old to think God’s Word doesn’t apply to you. I want to follow Him closely, not try to get away with applying my plan instead of HIs. Because if I’ve learned anything from my many decades of following Jesus, it’s that His plan is always better, and my plan, even if it doesn’t seem to have caused any harm in the moment, always has disastrous implications for my heart.