…and God requireth that which is past. Ecclesiastes 3:15b

Anyone who knows me knows I love history. I read it, I write about it, I study it. Maybe that is why this verse has been ringing in my head over the last week. It speaks about history.

To God, of course, there is no history. There is simply “His Story” which He has seen in eternity past and plays out in our day to day lives as it did the lives of those before us. It’s hard to comprehend how God saw on the first day of creation, World War II. Or how when Washington fought for the heights around New York City, God saw 9-11. All of that is just part of what makes our God so awesome.

There isn’t really a period in history I don’t love. There’s a lot I don’t know. The Civil War and the Gilded Age interest me more than the Roman Empire and World War II, but I’ll read just about anything in the history section of the library (which is the 900s in the Dewey Decimal system). In fact, I won’t live long enough to read everything I want to about history. And while, yes, God will judge the nations of this earth and the parts they played in His Story; this verse isn’t just a reference to history in general. Think history in personal.

And maybe that’s why I read so much about history and the people who lived it. Stonewall Jackson, Abigail Adams, the Pilgrims, the Vanderbilts, Presidents, kings. They’re all a lot more interesting than I am. But sometimes your history rears its memorable head.

Last night at church I met the eldest child in a family that has been visiting over the last few weeks. Sixteen years of age – nearly half my own thirty – and yet so similar to me in so many ways. The eldest of eight, homeschooled, talks proudly about her sibling, babysits, and dreams of a future that might include college but certainly includes a family of her own at some point. Standing there, listening to her chatter, it all seemed vaguely familiar. And I started to wonder. When did I become thirty years old? How in the world did I end up back in Texas away from the mountains, winter, snow and trees that I love? I certainly never thought I’d end up all by myself at my age, working a job I could do in my sleep, no hope of marriage in the near – or far – future, and still scribbling away with the wistful thought I might actually write well enough to one day have my name on the cover of a book. And, I wondered, what will this girl’s life be like when she reaches my age?

Thirty years seems hardly long enough to have a history, but think about how many wars can be fought in that period of time. Or how many kings rise and fall. Ronald Reagan is history, but I remember when he was President. So, whether I feel my age or not (and it’s usually the latter), I have a history. Some of it is wonderful. And some of it I would not wish on my worst enemy. No one wants to read about it, and yet maybe someone could learn from it. I can learn from it.

There is that saying that says those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. For while my sins past, present and future are forgiven and while I will spend eternity with my Savior regardless of the fool I can often be; one day I will be judged for my actions. For my past. For my history. I can’t go back and change anything. And some of it I didn’t choose anyway. But I can make wise choices today, which will affect my tomorrow. For God requires much of His children, but He also gives us grace to do much.