Falling Plates: when death is just a memory

by Maria Krump, guest writer

What if it is true?

What if, all of a sudden, you find yourself…THERE.

On eternity’s shore.

But your feet don’t really know where “there” is, do they?

They want to. And they keep aching for firm ground, for something, anything to land on, to find that footing and balance that would make all of it stop spinning.

You’re dizzy, but there’s no regaining consciousness, because somehow you’re still spinning.

It’s like a whirl of colors that pass by, and everything blends into everything else.

And who knew there were two plates beneath you, moving, all the time? Will it take a Washington Monument situation, where you don’t realize they’re there until you crack down the middle?

But…what if you don’t want them to stop?  Because you know they will, but what if they do, and suddenly you don’t know anything about the ground you land on?

What if the chaos becomes the normal?

How then do you transition back into the real world?

And here’s the secret, that deep down thing you don’t want to admit…

What if firm footing terrifies you?

Where is the balance between making plans and surrendering control?

HOW do you even do any of that, that planning-or-surrendering-control-thing? What do you do right now? Because tomorrow is both so far away, and so unknown…

Except none of it changes the fact that, there you are…you know, there.

And here.

And as you stare at that whirl of color, you realize you only know one thing.

And that one thing is the deepest part of you, and leaves you speechless, breathless, and starving, all at the same time.

The people pass by. The things pass away. And you hear your hollow voice reverberating off the walls as you say it out loud:

“…Meaningless, meaningless…”

Because it aches.

It ACHES. Because suddenly, the only thing you know to be true, and the only thing unchanging, and that which only has one promise, one face, one story…tugs at you.

Because EVERYTHING comes back to it! That one thing.  And there’s nothing else left, and nothing else matters, and then what do you do with that?

You ache. ACHE for the living Gospel. For the truth of grace, the promise of love, and the glory everlasting.

And your stomach won’t stop growling for that daily bread.

The voice of God that shakes it all.


And you realize that underneath it all is another speck of something. It’s sprinkled with hope, but underneath all of that, there’s a seed of fear.

What if it’s true?

What if…you are powerful beyond words can say?  Your potential and who you are reaches farther than you’ve ever imagined?  And it pushes the edge of reality because suddenly that mighty voice is behind you, gently whispering…


Do you stand up?  Do you sit down?  Do you put your head in your hands and cry, do you open that text book and try to focus one more time, do you sink back into your pillow, and try not to think about…that?

That you maybe do have something to offer?  That you maybe do have a gift, a vision, a strength…a voice?

What if it’s true that people do follow you..?

And what if you’re scared beyond belief, because why would they follow someone whose feet are floating on moving plates?

So what if they do anyways. What do you do with that?


I’m not sure what, but I know you can’t just stop, because you have to do something.

I think, my friends, you might even…sing.

You might stick your bare feet in the grass and take one step at a time.  And whatever that voice says, you do, even if it is… “Go.”

Because in the midst of all the aching, the moving, the spinning, and even in the dizziness…

You still believe it.

All of it.

You believe in miracles, you believe in grace, and most of all, you believe in power mightier than anything else.

Because, before you know it, you will be in that place.

Where the waves are just ebbing on the eternity’s shore. Where death is just a memory.

And then you will know what all of it was.

Until then, all you can taste is the shadow of that something so far away.  Because it could never exist in entirety here on this earth, so all you can do is sit and ache…

Ache for that place called home.

Because it’s coming.

If nothing else is true, and if you don’t know where you are, that’s okay.

Because you don’t belong to any of it anyways.

So I’ll sit here, and urge you to do this:

To Ache.

To Believe.

And to never, EVER, dare call this place home.

(Oh, but it’s coming soon. He promised.)

Maria Krump is a guest writer and senior at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Ill.

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