Just Around the Bend

I would not have freely chosen this particular script that the Lord has written for our lives. And today I’m really feeling that.

This past month has been something else. Sometimes I handle the twists and turns, ups and downs, with patience and grace–tethering myself to the Lord and His Word.

And sometimes, like today, I bemoan my circumstances and heavy emotion simmers just below the surface . . . waiting to erupt.

To be honest, the word “weary” feels like an understatement right now. In fact, over the last several years, I’ve told Jeremy that I’m really starting to hate the word “endurance.” Almost as much as I hated it when my high school cross country coach would drop us off in the middle of nowhere and tell us to run until we see the yellow bus. Miles and miles, with no end in sight. That is a test of endurance.

I’m feeling the same way these days.

Running and running, sometimes walking, hoping with the next bend in the road that I will see that yellow bus.

It’s probably a good thing that I didn’t write the script for our lives, though. It would have been perfect, cushioned, boring. Sure, we would’ve changed the world for Christ. Sure, our children would’ve stormed the gates of hell from an early age. Sure, we would’ve excelled in everything we put our hands to.

But there’s a whole lot of emphasis on us in those words and thoughts.

Our greatness.

Our grandeur.

Our legacy.

And the Lord sure is doing His very best to strip away every bit of that way of thinking. To put Him first and foremost in our hearts and minds. But, truth be told, that stripping away hurts. And it never gets any easier.

My dad died two weeks ago. That’s still so strange to say. Surreal even. We gathered as family, cried together, laughed together, remembered together, celebrated together.

And the thing that kept running through my mind over and over again, is still running through my head . . . my dad is beholding the Lord right now. This very moment. He has come face-to-face with his Savior. In fact, on Sunday, we sang, “Come and behold Him, the One and the Only; Cry out, sing holy; Forever a Holy God; Come and worship the Holy God.” I almost couldn’t hold it together.

On this earth, we bid people, come. Behold Him. But it’s with limited sight. It takes faith. My dad’s faith has now become sight.

What would he say to me today? Oh, how much I long to see and hear what he now sees and hears. And though he is absent in the body, I actually feel as though he is strangely close. There’s a great deal of comfort in knowing that he is now forever in the presence of the Lord, and I will one day join him there.

We will behold our God together. In reality. Forever.

This is why the things of earth grow “strangely dim,” as the song goes. This is why Paul declares that our affliction is “light and momentary.”

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18, ESV

From there, my mind immediately jumps to another book in the New Testament, where Peter reminds his readers that the troubles of this world are only for a “little while.”

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to His great mercy, He has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith–more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire–may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” 1 Peter 1:3-7, ESV

These are truly amazing words! My dad, Paul, and Peter keep reminding me to keep my eyes focused heavenward, on the eternal. It doesn’t matter what is in the script God is writing in this life of ours. We can receive all of it by keeping the temporal things in perspective, of the living hope, of an imperishable inheritance, of all praise and honor and glory that we will one day ascribe in person to Jesus Christ.

If that doesn’t get you excited, I don’t know what will.

It’s not about us. It’s not about you. It’s not about me.

Each and every day is lived unto Him, the One who deserves all praise and honor and glory. Don’t squander the short time we have. Make the most of each day, for His kingdom purposes. Cast off fears and worries about tomorrow and embrace the light, momentary affliction for what it is doing in you . . . building treasure in heaven where nothing can steal, kill, and destroy.

I write these words as much for myself and as a declaration of truth to my heart and mind . . .

I can take all the anger, bitterness, frustration, and sadness that I feel at times and tuck every single one of them under the goodness and greatness of my God. I can dwell in the shelter of Him, the Most High, and abide in the Almighty’s shadow. He alone is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust (Psalm 91).

There is immense hope in lifting my eyes up to Him. Even though He is the King of all kings and the Lord of all lords, Sovereign Ruler of the entire universe, seated on His throne in unimaginable splendor, He is still deeply personal to me.

And even when He doesn’t change my circumstances. Even when things are overwhelmingly difficult. Even when I make it around the next bend in the road and don’t see that yellow school bus yet.

He gives me the strength to keep moving forward, drawing my eyes up to Him. One step at a time.

Because we know that one day, eventually, we will round the bend and see that glorious yellow school bus.

We know there is an end, so we run “forgetting what is behind and straining forward to what lies ahead.” We press on towards that upward call, that heavenly goal (Philippians 3:14, ESV).

Then our faith shall be made sight . . . just like my dad.