I remember when my father died. I stood with my hands on his chest when he took his last breath. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. And life moved on. Just like a sand castle on the beach. For a few hours the castle stands tall, and then it's gone. The beach is the same as it was before but the castle is gone.

When I read Peter's description of the earth's future fate I recall that early morning when my father--after 87 years--silently slipped away. Peter said, "But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare" (2 Peter 3:10). Since everything on this planet will face this final and fast approaching fate, doesn't it make sense for us to draw our identity from something else? Something that will last?

I noted last week that Solomon observed that life "under the sun" is meaningless. Unfortunately, many people who read the book of Ecclesiastes miss Solomon's dramatic conclusion. It's so brief and simple they give it no more attention than a footnote. He said, "Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments" (Ecc. 12:13).

All men want the key that unlocks the mysteries of life. Solomon searched high and low for it. But God wouldn't give it to him through knowledge, pleasure, work or money. Instead, God did something better. He gave HIMSELF to the seeker. He offered a friendship with the Locksmith.

An identity that gives meaning isn't found by chasing after success or pleasure. It's not found in accumulating money or toys. None of these will satisfy and one day God will vaporize their every tinge, trace and track. Not a breath, shadow or whisper will remain to tell of their existence.

We find true meaning when we connect with the one who loves us, accepts us and infuses us with himself. After Peter warns of the impending destruction of the heavens and earth and the creation of new ones, he says, "So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with him" (2 Peter 3:14). The phrase, "with him," captures the essence of life's meaning. All we think, say, do, and accomplish, "with him," will survive the coming blast and live on for eternity.

Solomon summed it up when he said, "Fear God and keep his commandments." When Solomon urged us to "fear" God he wasn't talking about the trembling terror a battered child has around an abusive parent. Or, the uptight respect a rookie recruit has for a ruthless drill sergeant. When we fear God we revere him and stand in awe of him. When we're caught up in his presence, God envelopes us and we find meaning in him because we're identified with him.

The coastline of the Pacific Northwest boasts some of the most beautiful country in the world. Primeval forests form a soaring cathedral over the hills. Sheer cliffs stand hundreds of feet above the ocean. Giant black rocks form surreal towers that rise over the ocean surface. Seagulls resting on the black monoliths look like specks of dandruff. Trees, battered by wind, bent and bowed, lean toward the east--away from the water as though they were paralyzed while trying to run from the twenty-foot waves that crash into the rocks and send white spray and foam fifty feet into the air.

About fifteen miles south of the resort town of Cannon Beach I find a viewpoint perched high above the surface of the ocean. Along the edge of the parking lot stands a two-foot high stone wall. As I examine the wall I spot a seldom used path that runs from the wall toward the cliff. I climb over the wall and walk away from the parking lot. The path creeps along a narrow ridge that runs at a ninety-degree angle from the coastline. The trail slips between a thick growth of Oregon grape that stands seven or eight feet high--tall enough to obscure my view in every direction.

I hike a quarter of a mile and exit the vegetation and stand at the very end of a point that protrudes several hundred yards out over the ocean like a giant plank resting on steep walls. Below and to the north towering cliffs made of rock look like layered black slate. Portions of the rock cliff stick out in a perpendicular angle from the rest of the rock cliff. I see what looks like giant keyholes in the black slate. Monstrous waves crash into the rocks and send white foamy spray, like frothy shrapnel, through the keyholes.

I stand spellbound by the beauty and mesmerized by a blending of fear and fascination. One false step and I'll plummet to my death on the jagged rocks far below. I admire the splendor of this spot, yet, I respect the danger of getting too near the edge. Even so, I stand as close as possible to the cliff so I can view the spectacular display of power and beauty.

Overwhelmed by sensory overload, I marvel at nature's beauty and the God who created it. Fear, pleasure, and respect compete for my attention.

I feel brushed by God's presence and suddenly realize what it means to "fear" God. I stand in awe of him. I revere him. I'm drawn in by his beauty, majesty and love, yet I respect his dangerous power.

Since that experience, I've taken my wife, sons and a few close friends to that sanctuary on the cliff. Unlike a sand castle on the beach, I know that my friendship with the creator will never wash away. It will endure the coming wrath of God which will melt away all of creation.

Shrouded in his presence, we find an identity that will imbue our lives with eternal meaning and permeate our efforts with the divine. His touch, and his touch alone, will satisfy our search for significance and fill the empty corners of our heart. He alone serves as the supernatural alloy that blends with our spirit making us, and all we do, into a metal that will endure forever.