What is real, anyway?
This house in which I sit is real. That’s certain — for the moment. Yet before the day is done, a fire or wind or explosion could wipe it all away. Though a concrete reality now, then it would become but a memory, a shadow in the mind.
I had a friend so healthy that I (never robust) envied her. Yet within her lay a hidden cancer that grew undetected till too late to prevent her death a few short months later.
Friends prove disloyal, false, even treacherous. Were they ever real?
People who seem so kind prove cruel and hard in heart.
Admired leaders prove wily, conniving, dishonest, self-serving.
Marriages and friendships and families and churches collapse, and you wonder if they ever were what they purported to be…
Some question the reality of God and things eternal. I take the stance of C. S. Lewis, who in the Narnia tales referred to this present life and all in it as only shadows of the real and eternal — Aslan’s kingdom in the children’s books, God’s Kingdom in Reality.
“I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name,” declares the song.
Leaning, here and now in the Shadowlands, on what’s real.