I’m painting again. Not beautiful portraits or landscapes, but rather walls, furniture, porch swings, and fences. It seems to be a path toward acceptance for me…this painting thing. I did this when my first daughter graduated from high school, too.  It soothes, somehow. Another season is ending.  My youngest daughter is graduating from high school. My middle daughter is eyeing Tennessee. They youngest babies are flapping their wings. Soon they will be leaving the nest. A new season is beginning.

While painting the fence recently, I breathed in the scent of lilacs, listened to the call of birds, and felt the breath of God in the wind against my cheek…imagine the very breath of God…He is that near.

All is well: God reigns.

And I find painting not only soothing but also symbolic.

The swing that I repainted for the third time was bought when Taylorwas a baby. Premie Tatie…barely five pounds when we brought her home…which was three pounds heavier than her birth weight. I would rock her in this swing. It was new then….polished wood, shining metal. Her eyelids would flutter as she gazed into my face….open, shut, open, shut. Her tiny hand would curl around my finger as she sensed security and love. Just before sleep settled in…a deep breath of complete relaxation would escape her baby lips. And I would stay there….rocking….rocking….staring at this perfect creature.

Last week the swing was peeling paint….chipped….aged….weather worn. It has been 18 years. Impossible, truly!

So I scraped, sanded, and painted the swing. Pondering. Remembering. Wondering. A new era is beginning.

And as I paint, I place my heart in God’s hands. .He understands the grieving even when I don’t say a word…even when all I do is paint. As I once rocked Taylor, he rocks my soul. Gently, soothingly, and I breathe deeply of his presence just before I feel the peace.

These painting moments with God allow me to rejoice in the celebrations.  So whenTaylor walked the aisle to receive a major award this week, I smiled, clapped, and hooted and hollered. Pure celebration. Moist eyes were tears of joy.

And God reminds me who I am. I am not just a mother. I am a child. Even in the lonely places God whispers to me: Breathe. You are mine. This is not the end; it is a new beginning. Watch.  Wait. It’s a celebration!

This once tiny premie…this precious gift of life that first weighed in at one pound and thirteen ounces….she is the last arrow in my quiver, and she is about ready to be launched. By God’s grace, my bow is steady. I pull back the string. The arrow is perfectly placed. And when God says release……I pray that I will do it unfalteringly. And as it flies; you will find me painting.

I saw a documentary on time yesterday. Does time really exist? Is it linear? Is it possible that all things happen at the same moment? Strange sci-fi questions were asked, yet were they not far off? Time as we know it is not time as God sees it. We are bound by what we know. God is eternal. He knew all about our lives before the world began: our choices, our troubles, our joys and sorrows.

Scripture compares our brief time on earth to grass that withers, mere breath, a lengthened shadow, and wind that passes and does not return. Yet we live life as we will be on earth forever. Truly, though, we never know what day may be our last. Will this be the last hug I give my child? The last phone call to say I love you? The last dance with the one I love?

Make the most of every opportunity. Let those you love know it. Don’t let the sun go down on your anger. Life is so short. Live it to the fullest.

May this be our prayer:
“Let me know how transient I am.  Psalm 39:4

God says our entire lifetime is a brief moment of time from his perspective. In some ways, this helps me understand how he can allow suffering because suffering has a purpose. Its purpose is to build character, creates an “eternal weight of glory”, and draw us near to the heart of God. In God’s perspective, our suffering is momentary….momentary….even if it lasts a lifetime….because….

Time is not the same with God as it is with us. “A thousand years in thy sight are like yesterday when it passes by, or as a watch in the night.” (Psalm 90:4)He has no beginning or end. He is Alpha and Omega.   In comparison to our brief time on earth, God is eternal. “From everlasting to everlasting you are God.” (Psalm 90:2)

Thank God this brief life is not all there is to our existence.  While we are here, we need to make the most of every opportunity. Love unreservedly. Forgive freely as we have been forgiven by Christ. Be intentional about living for God’s glory. When we lose a loved one, the years until we see them again loom painfully long for us.  For those in heaven, who understand God’s time table of one thousand years is as a day, perhaps they think, “My loved one will be home for lunch!” And that’s when the party will really begin….and it will last…..forever!

Twenty-four years ago today was the first time I panicked as a mother…when the nurses told me that my newborn daughter was forgetting to…..BREATHE. There may be a lot of things I have forgotten to do over the years, but breathing isn’t one of them.

So the doctor gave us an apnea machine for her. And for months my daughter’s apnea machine would go off in the middle of the night because she was forgetting to breathe.  We would race to her room, nudge her, and then she would take a deep breath – like, “Oh yeah…that one minor thing that is ESSENTIAL TO LIFE!”

And those apnea monitor episodes were after we had finally gotten her to sleep at 1:00 AM after five hours of colicky screaming. We tried everything for colic and found only three things that worked:

1. A baby swing…but you can’t sleep yourself while your baby is in the swing. So I would watch movies in the middle of the night while Sarah would swing quietly, but very wide awake.
2. If Sarah was directly on top of me, she would sleep. So I would sleep on my back, and she would sleep on my stomach, and when she awoke crying, I would pat her butt for exactly four pats, then she would go back to sleep. I know, I know….I know this is dangerous…that babies can be suffocated by sleeping parents. But let me tell you, Sarah would never have let that happen because she woke up the moment I STIRRED. And that was the only way any of us could get any sleep for about six months. Besides, she had an apnea machine that screeched the minute she stopped breathing, which she often did even without one of her parents smothering her.
3. The final thing that worked was a ceiling fan. We would hold Sarah under the ceiling fan, and she was so mesmerized that she would forget to scream.  Her eyes would watch it go round and round…and we would softly sing, “round and round” to the tune of “Are You Sleeping Brother John”…and eventually she would sleep. So then we would VERY CAREFULLY put her back in her crib where we would pat her butt for five more minutes before we TIPTOED out of her room, being very careful to  miss every squeaky floor board (And trust me, we knew exactly where those squeaky boards were located). And we would sleep until the apnea monitor went off again.

Recently, I congratulated my daughter, whom we called “Purple Grape”, for introducing us to parenting in such a dramatic and unforgettable way.  (And we called her “Purple Grape” because she wasn’t breathing at birth, either, so she was as purple as a grape, but the doctor gave her an Apgar score of 10.When I asked the nurse how she could get an Apgar score of 10 when she was purple, the nurse said, “Oh, the doctor is color blind!”)

Our first daughter being purple at birth is also why we called our second daughter, Chelsey, “the pink baby”….because pink babies are breathing babies…and we were so grateful to have one that actually remembered to breathe. (Although, I did ask the nurse for an apnea monitor for Chelsey “just in case”. She very compassionately refused.)

I give my first daughter full credit for my husband’s premature gray hair and my over-protective nature.

 And at six months of age, our “purple grape” began smiling and laughing….and once she started, she never stopped….

And now….

She is absolutely delightful. No one makes me laugh harder than she does. And she still forgets things, but breathing isn’t one of them.

So when my daughter’s birthday rolls around like it did yesterday and I become melancholy and wish for the “good old days”… I go stand under the ceiling fan and sing “Round and Round”, and then I come back to my senses and call my very beautiful adult daughter and ask her to have lunch with me so we can share some “breathing space” and a few good laughs.

I walked the road of nostalgia today. I felt the aching in my chest as I neared the field where my children once played. The fifteen month old that I was with today, Esme, ran down the slight hill into the arms of her babysitter, Chelsey. And I felt the disbelief of time speeding away when the memories are still so vivid. So vivid!

Chelsey, my daughter, will be 21 in two days. She was once fifteen months old running into my arms. I blinked. How can I just blink and my daughter turns from a toddler like Esme into this beautiful woman. Chelsey’s long auburn hair glistens in the sunlight just like when she was a toddler.  Her eyes are still as blue as the spring sky. But now her legs are long, and she is elegant. Chelsey kneels to be at eye level with Esme as Esme toddles toward her. And Chelsey’s smile is still as bright as sunshine.

Chelsey and Esme and I walked down the sidewalk, cracked and worn with life’s upheavals—this sidewalk once familiar, to a driveway that my children once ran up eagerly to meet friends. We stood in the driveway for a few moments while Esme toddled around our legs.

“I remember running up this driveway. I couldn’t wait to see Lauren,” Chelsey said.

“Yes,” I swallowed the lump. Chelsey was watching Esme inspect outdoor life in March. I was watching movies in my mind. I remembered sidewalk chalk all over this driveway…I can almost see the drawings. And Chelsey’s doll’s head rolled down this driveway. That doll was as big as Esme is now. Chelsey was running down this driveway, and the head of that doll just fell off and rolled down the driveway to the street. It looked so real…like a real human head full of dark curls. And we laughed hysterically while Chelsey cried hysterically. So we duct taped the doll’s head back on…but it wouldn’t hold…so the doll’s head had frequent bouts of decapitation. Even today this memory makes me smile.

“That window,” Chelsey commented. “That window is where we would wave from the couch.”

I nodded, and remembered Barbies strewn all over the floor of the condo, dress up clothes in piles, and Terry and I having coffee at the table near the patio. That patio right there. The one right above us with someone else’s grill.

“So fun,” Chelsey sighed. I sighed, too. Esme sighed after us without knowing why.

“Terry and I figured out life together during those days,” I thought. “And our babies…Kayla and Taylor….graduating together in two months…from high school! Impossible! Wasn’t it last month they were four years old in ballet class together? And in just a blink…a blink…they grew up. In real time, last week they were in the Orcassis Dance program together at the high school. They are still friends, still dancing together….such a gift.” I didn’t voice any of this out loud. Chelsey was off with Esme. I was still standing there…staring at days gone by.

We rounded the corner and walked away from the small condo that held so many memories. And I watched Esme toddle down the walk while Chelsey followed. And instead of looking back, I looked forward. I could see the future…Chelsey as a mom…me as a grandma. Life has joys in every season. Every single season. This day…as I walk with my grown-up daughter, I will rejoice in today and praise the God of love, and friendship, and the giver of all good things…in every season.

 
I have always liked hidden corners. I am strange that way. As a child, my favorite song lyrics from Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella were:

I’m as mild and as meek as a mouse

When I hear a command I obey.

But I know of a spot in my house

Where no one can stand in my way.

In my own little corner in my own little chair

I can be whatever I want to be

On the wings of my fancy I can fly anywhere

And the world will open its arms to me.

I mean, after all, didn’t Cinderella’s imagination lead to faith…and didn’t faith change her world? Come on…everyone knows the fairy Godmother was an angel in disguise, right? And who but God has the power to turn pumpkins into carriages? And did she really have the faith to believe that a noble prince would marry a girl who sat in the cinders?

So as a child, I often lived in my imagination. And I believe my imagination later helped me to have the faith to believe in a God who could do the impossible.

As a four-year-old, I would hide behind the couch to open Mom’s junk mail…which transformed into secret messages.  I loved paper and words even then.

Mom put a curtain over the opening in a desk (meant for a wooden chair and human legs), and I had a secret hideout right in the middle of the living room. It was a great place to eavesdrop.

I was always building forts. Snow forts. Tree forts. Prairie forts. I had some inborn desire to create a small and hidden space where I could ponder and dream.

Even today, my favorite indoor writing spot is in a corner with two windows. It overlooks the backyard and is secluded in the laundry room. Yes, the laundry room which is also my office.

I have even considered converting the girls’ tree fort to a writing retreat. Haven’t many of the great writers done the same? Have you seen the tiny house at Walden’s Pond?

My children’s favorite toy was an antique trunk filled with dress up clothes. Another box had hats. A third container held purses. A fourth shoes. The best box was perhaps the miscellaneous one…beads, gloves, belts, glasses, masks…Out of this magical trunk emerged skits and plays and costumes. Movies were made. Dances were choreographed. Imaginations were grown. Sermons were preached. Children were married. Careers were born. Gospel songs were sung. God was praised in the imaginations of children.

Sometimes I wonder. Do children have time to dream? Do they have time to sit in quiet corners and ponder life? Do we fill their lives with so many “good” things, that imagination and faith never grow?

And as adults have we given up imagination as a lost part of childhood? Do we take time to let our imaginations soar? Do we have a quiet space to reflect on all that God has done? Do we ponder the flight of a hummingbird or the home of a woodpecker or what heaven is really like? Because doesn’t faith require imagination… to believe what cannot be seen?

If the sound of my voice is as beautiful as my daughters singing together in perfect harmony, but my words do not demonstrate love, my voice sounds more like a two-year-old set free on the drums and cymbals. If I can tell you the future plans God has for you including all the mysteries and knowledge of your life, and if I have faith to throw the California mountains along Route 1 (that I love so much) into the sea, creating a break along the San Andres Fault that separates California from the US mainland which creates a beautiful island, but I do not demonstrate love….then all that will be seen is the tusnami devastation, and all I am is nothing. If I give all my money to the poor people in Nairobi, the place that broke our daughter Sarah’s heart, and if I make Nairobi my home to assist the people there, but none of this is motivated by the love that I have for God and the people of Nairobi, then I gain nothing.

When in Tennessee

When my daughter, Chelsey, was three, we had some friends visit from Tennessee. They blew into town with a storm. As I struggled to hold the front door open for them, the wind fought me.

“What crazy weather!” I exclaimed. “Come inside quickly before we blow away.”

“We saw a tornado,” were the first words of greeting from six-year-old David.

“You did?! Where?” I searched the green sky.

“In a field,” he announced.

“Near here?” I asked.

“No, it was about an hour ago,” David’s mother, Kittilu, answered.

“You saw it in a field?” my daughter ,Chelsey, asked.

“Yeah,” David answered.

“Was it red?” Chelsey asked.

We all stopped talking and stared at her for a minute as we tried to process her random question.

“No, it wasn’t red,” David said scornfully. “It was gray.”

“Gray?” Chelsey asked.

“Yes,” David responded.

“So was it dirty?” Chelsey questioned.

David didn’t know how to respond, so his mom, Kittilu, answered. “It was made of dirt, Chelsey.”

“Oh,” she said. But she looked puzzled.

“At one point, we thought maybe we were in the eye of the storm. It was so calm,” Kittilu continued.

“It had eyes?” Chelsey asked. “Big eyes.? Was it watching you?”

Kittilu patiently explained, “Not eyes like people have. The center of a tornado is called the eye of the storm. It is calm there.”

“Oh,” Chelsey nodded. “So eyes like a potato has in the center of it?”

Everyone laughed. “No, not like eyes on a potato,” Kittilu detailed the wind directions of the eye of a storm. Chelsey nodded.

“So was it really big?” Chelsey asked.

“Yes!” David answered.” It was huge.”

“It was huge?” Chelsey continued to try to process this information. She stretched her arms out wide. “Like this?”

“No!” David was getting frustrated. “It was taller than this house.”

“What!” Chelsey was incredulous. “I’ve never seen a tomato as big as a house.”

Finally everyone understood her confusion. Three-year-old Chelsey had never heard of a tornado…only a tomato. David gave her a quick lesson in storms.

Six months later we were visiting these same friends at their house in Tennessee. Kittilu was cutting tomatoes for a salad. Chelsey pulled up a stool to the counter to watch her. “Oh, I see you are putting tornadoes in your salad. I like tornadoes.”

Apparently Chelsey, who obviously still had no concept of what a tornado was, decided, “When in Tennessee, speak like those in Tennessee speak.”

Eighteen! How can my miracle baby possibly be eighteen? Taylor’s birth was also the birthing time of the outline for my book, Leaping the Wall.  I mailed the manuscript for Leaping the Wall to the publisher yesterday, eighteen years after I titled it. It seems like God-ordained timing, finishing the book asTaylor turns eighteen. God completes the work that He begins.

As I write this blog,Taylor’s music fills the room. I feel my spirit soar with the joyous melody of her piano and soulful voice. I remember her playing “Amazing Grace” by ear when she was only two-years-old. As those early seeds of music were planted inTaylor’s life, I wondered how God would use her musical talent. Today I see the bud almost ready to bloom. Miraculous! God completes the work that He begins.

Last Tuesday I sat across the table from the pastor that first brought the Word alive for me. His passion for God was as visible as it had been in my confirmation class. I hadn’t seen him in thirty-five years. I pondered his life. An ordinary life in many ways, yet he led my uncle and dad to the Lord, and now all of their children and grandchildren knew the Lord, too. The completion of my manuscript, inspired because of my love for God’s Word, began with this pastor. He started me on the journey of knowing God and absorbing the Word, and now I am writing about that very same God. I sensed, once again, God’s ordained timing reminding me that God completes the work that He begins.

As I shared with this pastor what God was doing in my life, he reminded me of a verse. “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” Psalm 37:4. It was the fourth time that day I had come across the verse. God was obviously speaking to me. I had raised the child that I thought I wouldn’t know until heaven, and she is ready to embark on the next chapter in her life. The book that was inspired by her birth is complete.  Indeed, I had been given the desires of my heart. God completes the work that He begins.

Addendum: The following excerpt from Leaping the Wall explains one episode of how God met me during the crisis ofTaylor’s birth – 18 years ago.

Joy emerges from even broken vessels. It is found in the hope of those who tread the valley of the shadow of death. It reverberates in the songs of praise offered from broken hearts. Joy is like the arching of lightning that illuminates the darkest storm or the brilliant colors of light that splits open night with the dawn of hope. Joy arises from the soul that offers quiet praise when all seems lost; it is the cry of the heart that rests in the Giver of hope.

My headlights illuminated the road just ahead of me as I steered my car out of the hospital parking lot into the starless, winter night. The outer darkness seemed symbolic of my mood which was dark, cold, and depressed.

The grim news of my premature daughter’s progress seemed like a black hole pulling all light of hope into its unknown depth of despair. A chest tube had been inserted intoTaylor’s delicate one pound thirteen ounce, tiny body to rescue a collapsed lung. Her lungs were so underdeveloped that they already required a full respirator and one hundred percent oxygen. This grave report balanced precariously on other serious conditions already being constantly monitored: a hole in her heart, unstable blood pressure, and a digestive system so immature it could only receive one drop of milk at a time through a feeding tube.

Future issues also loomed. Every new trauma threatenedTaylor’s chance of survival. We were waiting on results from a brain scan; fifty percent of premature babies her size had brain hemorrhaging. Retinopathy of prematurity, a retinal disease, was also a common issue for preterm babies. When I had asked the doctor about the prospect of her future vision, his eyes searched mine compassionately. “One day at a time,” he had counseled. “Eye disease is still down the road. We have enough to deal with today.” He was right; I was overwhelmed with the negative medical information, and I felt my hope for the survival of this precious daughter disappearing into the black hole of despair.

“Lord, Taylor is three weeks old, and I have never held her,” I poured out my heartaches to God, angry that my omnipotent Father had allowed all this pain. The Holy Spirit reminded me of a verse I had memorized earlier in the week. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18 ESV). There was no reason to hide my thoughts and emotions from my all-knowing Father; He knew my every word before one of them formed on my tongue.

Memories of my visits withTaylor haunted me as I headed toward my parents’ home, our temporary residence due to its proximity to the hospital. All I could do to comfort Taylor was to open the portholes of the incubator and touch her fragile skin. Her entire hand would grasp onto my index finger, clenching it tightly. She would try to open her eyes, perhaps recognizing my voice. The bright lights of the hospital were too much for her; however, so she closed her eyes and simply held my finger tightly.

“I am reaching for you likeTaylor reaches for me, Lord,” I prayed. “Where are you? I just want you to hold me, to rock my soul. I am desperate to just cling to you. Is this how Taylor feels? Abandoned? Alone? I can’t hold her physically because she needs the incubator, but that doesn’t change my love for her. I know you are there, too, watching and loving.” I tried to voice truth that I couldn’t feel. Only darkness surrounded me. Despair was closing in.

“I don’t know how to deal with depression. I feel like I am going crazy—like  I will never be the same. I will never be happy again.Taylor’s life will change me forever. If she dies, I will never get over it. My happiness is gone. I will never again be known as a joyful person.” Tears rolled down my cheeks as I poured out my heart to God. Typically, I saw the blessings in life and counted the joys. Dark moods usually passed quickly, but not this time. This time the dawn never seemed to break. I was in endless night.

I Choose Joy. Larnelle Harris’s song on the radio broke my train of thought and spoke God’s truth to my soul. Joy was a choice. I had to decide if I was going to let my circumstances ruin my life and affect my relationship with God. I felt stunned that the Abba Father would speak to me so directly through the words of this song. Banging on my steering wheel with my fist, I proclaimed, “I choose joy! I choose joy! I choose joy! By your strength, God, I choose joy.”

As I wept on my way home that night, my soul searched for joy. I pondered the way my headlights illuminated the night and the road before me. God would show me the way a little bit at a time just as my headlights showed the road ahead of me but didn’t illuminate all the way home. A bit of hope was beginning to break through. “I will walk with you, God, one step at a time. And on that journey, no matter what comes, I choose joy.”

This February 6 will mark the day that Nate asked me to marry him—thirty years ago!

 I was a pretty skittish bride. I was afraid to commit…after all…making a promise for my entire life was no small promise! I remember wondering how a person really knew if this was the “right” person. But this much I did know…Nate was my best friend, and I didn’t want to live my life without him.

 I can honestly say, marriage has been way better and so much more fun than I had ever dreamed possible. Nate is still my best friend. If I have heartache, he is the one who holds me and wipes my tears. When life is full of joy and excitement, Nate can barely contain my exuberance.  Has it always been easy? Nope.  Lots of times it has been hard…really hard.

  A friend and I were talking about the term “happily ever after” today. We were saying that this phrase sets children up to think married life will be happy, happy, happy all the time.

 As a result of this thinking, when marriage gets hard, people think they made a mistake, or that they married the wrong person, or that love failed, or maybe that they were never in love to begin with. They feel disappointed, and they give up. Looking for something that is elusive and unreal, they move from relationship to relationship.

 So let it be known young people: Love never fails, people do. Marriage is hard work. It takes self-sacrifice. You have to think about the needs of others before your own needs. It takes communication, confrontation, and being committed to working through the hard stuff together. Perhaps marriage is not so much about our happiness as it is about shaping us into who God wants us to be.

 Marriage is a commitment:

In sickness and in health: cancer? heart disease? diabetes? stroke? dementia?  You are there for each other.  You hold each others’ hands and wipe each others’ tears.

 For richer or for poorer: out of work? food stamps? bankrupt? Together you trust the true provider, God.

 Til death do us part: Love is a commitment. It says, “When you wake up tomorrow, I will be here.” Love is an action, not just an emotion.  It is patient and kind. It includes giving, rejoicing, and hoping. Feelings come and go. True love doesn’t disappear.

 No greater love has anyone than this…to lay down his life for a friend. So marry your best friend, and share life together no matter what. Now that is truly living happily ever after.

This exerpt from LEAPING THE WALL is dedicated to my friends who are either near the finish line or have recently crossed the River Jordan to their eternal home. “We do not grieve as those who have no hope.”

Hope for Eternity

             Hope believes that life conquers death through Jesus Christ. Time on earth is the small beginning dot of a ray that stretches endlessly into eternity future. This eternal future holds untold joy, hope, love, and peace. No matter how difficult life on earth is, it is temporary. For those who have put their faith and hope in Jesus, our struggle will end the moment we meet Jesus face-to-face. In all of Job’s loss, he had hope for eternity. If a man dies, will he live again? All the days of my struggle I will wait until my change comes.” (Job 14:14 NASB).

                    The Bible says that God’s eternal perspective of time is different than our earthly view. To God, one thousand years is like a day, so in heaven’s perspective, all of life on earth is just a speck of living compared to infinite eternity. God grieves with us when we lose a loved one, but He promises that our parting is temporary if we belong to Him. Truly life on earth is like grass that withers. God hears our cries of grief and knows our breaking hearts, but He also knows our grief is temporary.  It is then that He whispers to our soul reassurances of reunion in eternity.

            For those who hope in Christ, death is not the end. When believers die, we hope to see them again. We do not grieve as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Perhaps our loved ones who have gone to eternity before us will become part of the great cloud of witnesses described in Hebrews 12:1. Perhaps they are surrounding us and cheering us on as we run the race with endurance to the finish line.

            Several years ago, four people who were dear to me crossed from earth into eternity in a relatively short period of time. As I grieved, I tried to think of time from an eternal perspective. I imagined God saying, “Welcome home! The rest of your family will be home for lunch.” For if one thousand years is like a day, then all of earth’s time is like just a few hours to God.

            The years since my loved ones have been gone seem like just a blink of time. Memories of them keep them near to me. In a few more blinks, I will be home with them and all the others I have loved and lost that have gone before me to the arms of Jesus.

            Heaven’s joys will exceed our hope. Our Heavenly Father is creating a new heaven and a new earth, and God himself will dwell among us (Revelations 21:3)

. … He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.”(Revelations 21:4-5a ESV).

             This new heaven and earth will be far more than we can think or imagine. Life’s earthly joys are only a shadow of heaven. The Apostle John describes heaven in the book of Revelations as a city having the glory of God with brilliance like a costly stone of crystal-clear jasper. The city is pure gold, like clear glass, and its foundation is adorned with precious stones. Each gate of the city is a single pearl, and the glory of God illuminates it for its lamp is the Lamb. Its gates shall never close. The river of the water of life flows from the throne of God and of the Lamb. There shall no longer be any curse. In this new heaven and earth, we will reign forever and ever (Revelations 20 and 21).

            Heaven is a place of rejoicing and gladness. Peace, joy and love reign for there will no longer be any curse. . . . no more shall be heard in it the sound of weeping and the cry of distress (Isaiah 65:19b ESV). Even the animals will dwell in peace during the Millennial Kingdom. “The wolf and the lamb shall graze together; the lion shall eat straw like the ox, and dust shall be the serpent’s food. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain,” says the Lord (Isaiah 65:25 NASB).

            Because we have this hope laid up in heaven, we can have the strength to endure whatever comes. Life on earth is temporary, and one day those found in Christ will have eternal joy. In the meantime, we press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus (Philippians 3:14 ESV). We strive to honor God as we walk this sin scarred earth. We desire to be counted worthy of our calling. By God’s grace, we press on to fulfill every desire for goodness and the work of faith with power so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ (2 Thessalonians 1:12 ESV).

Song: Hope Now by Addison Road

Bible Passage: 1 Peter 1:3-9

Memory Verse: Why are you in despair, O my soul? And why have you become disturbed within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him, the help of my countenance and my God (Psalm 42:11 NASB).  

Reflective question: Why is hope such an essential part of our faith?

Prayer:

God of all hope,

You are a faithful God, and your promises are true. My hope is in you. I know that you are always with me; you will never leave nor forsake me. Thank you for the promise of eternal life through my Savior, Jesus Christ. What a glorious hope to know that the suffering on earth will soon be over, and in heaven there will be no more sorrow, no more death, no more sickness, no more pain. As I wait for the days of eternal joy and peace in your presence, help me to run the race with endurance for your glory and praise. Amen.