Forever Awareness - Part Two

I work.  I sit in the living room, on the sofa of someone I have just met. I ask personal questions: “Have your bowels moved today?” “Are you urinating O.K.?” This is my routine. I am a home-health nurse. While I probe into the life of this one deemed by God to stay here for now, visitors arrive - - a pastor and his wife. Greetings are exchanged, I take the time to write, but I listen. Talk of the passing of a sister in Christ is the topic and the responses are these: “What a shame.”  “So sad.”  Bowed heads shake back and forth and finally someone says, “Well, at least she’s with the Lord.”  “At least . . . she’s with . . . the Lord.”  I feel, in this moment, as if I am enclosed in a round lens; wrapped in a new perspective. These words and regretful expressions fill my ears - - I hear them and I am side-swiped. They slip over me from inside my bubble, like a stream slips over a smooth, little stone; the molecules move so fast they never become familiar. These words are not familiar to my heart. “At least . . . she’s with . . . the Lord.”  My brow furrows, my head tilts. I am confused. “At least?”  “The Lord?”   

“Arise, O LORD! Confront him, subdue him! Deliver my soul from the wicked by your sword, from men by your hand, O LORD, from men of the world whose portion is in this life.  You fill their womb with treasure; they are satisfied with children, and they leave their abundance to their infants.

As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness.” (Psalm 17:13-15 ESV)

It is hard not to believe our “portion is in this life;” a struggle not to be “satisfied with children,” and all we will so proudly hand down to them. When we are young, we dream of all we will accomplish in our “lifetimes.” But age lets things go. We believe we are running out of time. We’ll never write that novel, learn to play an instrument, finish the basement, find a husband, have a baby.  Never . . . never . . .  never. 

But God says, “forever.”  We are meant to take part in this portion of our lives and to do so with gusto; but in the eyes of our children we should see the image of our Maker, as we give the best our hands and minds can muster in our workplace, we should remember a God who works, who makes, who builds. When our bodies operate according to plan, or when they don’t, we should be stunned, amazed, and flabbergasted by the beauty and intricacies of the creature that we are, and that we are by the hand of God. When we cross the threshold into our earthly structures and we feel content to be home, we should remember that we are only sampling what it feels like to truly be home. We are meant to discover Christ in all this life brings, and to find complete fulfillment and satisfaction in Him alone. “In Him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:28 ESV) We “shall behold” His “face in righteousness.” Death of this body will come, but when we “awake,” from our deathless death, we “shall be satisfied,” - - completely - - with the person of Christ - - the image of the invisible God. As our bodies are dying, we are coming awake. As this flesh breaks down, we are being built up in our inner man. We have forever and we will see.  

“And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”(John 17:3(ESV) This truth - - if you’ve never heard it before, or even if you’ve heard it a thousand times - - is the source of your restlessness. This is the treasure, the soothing balm, the bliss - - the rest we are looking for. I have longed more for a good book, a movie, a bubble bath. I have craved those things more than Heaven. But not now. A sense of eternity has invaded my space, or, more apt, has become my space, like a secret room; my lens enclosure.

From inside, my new view looks like this: The wind, isn’t just the wind, it’s like the Spirit, blowing where it will, moving my hair across my face, forcing my hand to push it aside so I can see. Seeds in my garden are not just seeds, they are like resurrection, a picture of my destiny. The sun is not just a big ball of gas, it warms me and rules my day as Christ does my heart. From inside this lens, I can see clearly that I’m not meant to finish it all now. The abilities and desires God has given are meant for the now and the not yet. They are everlasting. I will be a writer forever, a gardener forever, a singer forever. When I put pen to paper, nurture a seed, sing a song - - when I do those things now, I’m practicing. Practice, by Christ’s strength and grace, makes perfect. One day I will write, sing, and plant with a pure heart and an honest motive. The person I am was never meant to go away, but only to be cleansed, to be made ready for the best.  And when I go home, you can say of me, “At best . . . she’s with . . . the Lord.