Zombies, School Buses, and The Afterlife

A while ago (ok, QUITE a while ago) I decided to start running. It didn't stick. It was an admirable endeavor, but given my appalling lack of physical activity up to that point, it may have been a bit too lofty of an ambition for getting me off the couch.

Fast forward to early last month. I began WALKING. Every day. Almost. Not on the weekends, and initially not in really bad weather, but more days than not, I dutifully leashed the dog and toured our street after putting the girls on the bus. And, once the girls discovered what was going on, they demanded to be in on an afternoon walk, so now I often walk twice, though the second one is usually abbreviated. I'm up to just about two miles on the morning walk. In under half an hour, too, which for me is impressive.

Walking the same route day after day, my mind tends to wander. [At this point I'll thank you not to mention that my mind would wander even if IT had the collar and leash instead of the dog.] So this morning, as I was rounding my second cul-de-sac, I noted that there really isn't much sign of life in our neighborhood at that time of day. From there, it was a short mental hop to imagining myself in a post-apocalyptic survival scenario. If you're familiar with my husband's unhealthy obsession with zombies, you'll understand why this didn't take much mental effort.

I initially started imagining the different possibilities for the apocalypse; zombies (of course), pandemic, natural disaster, war... the rational part of my mind got bored and started sifting through them, considering which would leave my cozy little neighborhood untouched except for the distinct lack of living people. Plague seemed the most likely, though the frequent rumblings coming from Quantico made a strong argument for global war.

Then my mind drifted to explaining my presence and circumstances. I mean, what would have secured my survival? Skills? Knowledge? Unexplained immunity? Or (as my husband would most likely say) pure dumb luck? And, how, in this world devoid of infrastructure, would I have charged the MP3 player I'm listening to? Solar panels, of course! And the house would be heated with a geothermal pump powered by those same panels (hey, it's theoretically possible; don't bother me with details like our house not actually having them). Then came the most unnerving question yet: Why am I wandering solo with my trusty dog by my side? Was I truly the only survivor? Or the crazy lady who spurned the refugee camps or guerrilla groups to live on her own in the "wilderness"? Was I a scout? A sentry? (GULP) BAIT? I decided I most liked the proposition of being an advance scout searching for survivors and resources. Go ahead and laugh now, it's OK.

Done? I'll wait...

About the time I rounded the 4th cul-de-sac (actually the first one, a second time) I began to ponder why we are so fascinated with the idea of a post-apocalyptic dystopia. After some consideration, I came to the conclusion that all of us have some ingrained memory of at least the idea of Eden. That perfect place where creation began. We long to return to it, to recreate it. But considering the current state of the world, wiping the slate clean with an apocalypse would certainly be a tempting place to start! But I also think that within each of us has the ingrained understanding that we don't deserve perfection (1). We are quick to ask, what's the catch? Hence the DYS portion of dystopia.

I ended the walk cheerful. Yes, cheerful; meditating on the fact that, in the end, we will have the opportunity to experience a new earth (2), a true utopia, free from zombies, mutant killer strawberries, or any other ugliness, including the consequences of our own sin (3). Now THAT is something worth surviving for! (4)

Thanks to my lovely, intelligent 9-year-old for helping me to remember which reference goes with which idea:
1:  Rom 3:23, 6:23
2: 2Pet 3:13, Rev 21:1
3: Isa 65:17, 2Cor 5:17
4: Heb 12:1