AND THEN WHAT?

 

I used to think life was a series of finish lines. Get the job. And then what? Get the promotion. And then what? Buy the house. And then what? Buy the bigger house because apparently the first house wasn’t housing hard enough. And then what?

Get the new car. Enjoy that magical new-car smell for approximately fourteen minutes. And then what? Now you have a monthly payment that requires prayer, budgeting, and occasional divine intervention. And then what?

We’re funny creatures. We spend our lives convinced that the next thing will finally do it. The newest phone. The nicer suit. The watch. The vacation. The title. The recognition. The thing.

And for a little while, it works. The phone is exciting. The suit looks sharp. The watch catches the light just right. Then somebody releases a newer phone, a sharper suit, and a watch that can apparently monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, sleep habits, and whether you’re making good life choices.

And we’re off chasing again.

And then what?

But it’s not just the things we buy. Sometimes it’s the things we do. The dessert the doctor specifically told us not to eat. And then what? The text message we know we shouldn’t send. And then what? The first drink when we already promised ourselves there wouldn’t be a first drink. And then what?

The comment we’ve been rehearsing all day. The one that’s going to feel amazing for about eight seconds.

And then what?

I’ve discovered that temptation has terrible long-term vision. It only cares about the next five minutes. It never sticks around for the part that comes after.

And then what?

But if I’m honest, the hardest version isn’t about stuff. Or food. Or drink.

It’s resentment.

The old wound. The old betrayal. The person who hurt us. The person who lied. The person who left. The person who took something they had no right to take.

The person we quietly hope gets what’s coming to them.

Soon.

And hard.

I know that’s not a particularly holy thing to admit. But if we’re being honest, most of us have had moments like that.

We imagine the apology. The humiliation. The reckoning. The day they finally understand exactly what they did.

And deep down we think, Then I’ll feel better.

And then what?

Because here’s what I’ve learned. I’ve gotten things I wanted. I’ve said things I wish I hadn’t. I’ve held onto anger longer than I should have. I’ve waited for life to teach certain people lessons I desperately wanted them to learn.

And every single road led to the same place.

The feeling faded. The satisfaction disappeared. The moment passed.

And I was still me.

Their pain never healed mine. Their downfall never rebuilt me. Their suffering never brought the peace I thought it would.

In fact, it often did just the opposite.

I thought it would make me feel lighter. I thought it would bring peace. I thought it would somehow settle the score inside my heart.

Instead, it kept me connected to the very thing I was trying to escape.

The resentment stayed. The anger stayed. The hurt stayed. Only now I was carrying all of that and the weight of the grudge too.

And carrying them around in my heart for years didn’t make my light shine any brighter.

It just made my world heavier.

My faith has taught me something I’m still trying to learn.

Peace doesn’t come from getting everything you want. It doesn’t come from winning every argument. It doesn’t come from proving your point. It doesn’t come from making sure everyone gets what they deserve.

Peace comes from finally putting down things you were never meant to carry.

As I’ve written before, nobody gets to load a U-Haul behind a hearse.

We don’t take the house. We don’t take the car. We don’t take the watch. We don’t take the trophies.

And thankfully, we don’t take the grudges either.

In the end, the question isn’t, What did I get?

The question isn’t, Who finally got what they deserved?

The question is, Who did I become?

More grateful or more bitter? More forgiving or more angry? More present or still keeping score?

Because one day all the scorecards disappear. The arguments. The promotions. The purchases. The victories. The grudges. The names of the people we swore we’d never forgive.

All of it.

And when that day comes, I don’t think any of us will wish we had accumulated more. Or won more arguments. Or finally gotten even.

I think we’ll wish we had loved more. Forgiven sooner. Laughed harder. Paid better attention. And spent less time chasing things that were never going to heal us in the first place.

Maybe that’s why the question matters.

Before we do anything, maybe we should ask the question that almost nobody asks anymore.

And then what?