On the one hand, I wouldn't mind if God took his time with the whole end-of-the-world business. Mostly selfishly, I think of my children and the world they will grow up in. I want them to live in peace, free from the trials I know are coming, whether 100 days or a thousand years from now. I want to play with my grandchildren.
Sometimes I pray God's mercy would extend just a little bit longer, just enough.
But then I'm reminded that this world, precious though it is, is not the goal. And more than anything I want my children to know that too, to claim their place in the world Jesus is making for those who trust in Him. When He comes to deliver us to that place, no past trial will ever tarnish its shine--all the things we've suffered here on Earth, big and small, will only serve to sweeten our joy on that day.
May we be ready when He comes. It's going to be something else.
The Best Day Ever
It'll come on suddenly.
All at once the lights will go on
like the man in the moon just flipped a giant switch
and it'll seem amazing to us, then,
how any of us were able to see before,
how dark and dismal things really were.
The earth will shout,
"There He is!"
and the roar will be a thousand waterfalls,
a million rockets sent into space,
and looking around we'll see each other
as we always should have been,
dust folded into the shape of life,
everything healed and whole,
all the old things forgotten.
Your whole life has been one long Christmas Eve.
Sometimes the morning seemed
so impossibly far
the darkness so deep
outside your window,
and you don't remember falling asleep
but once you did, of course,
it came in an instant.
And now here you are, on the Christmas of all Christmases,
His light more dazzling than any tree,
and you'll smile so big,
you'll think your face should be hurting.
But of course nothing hurts now. Nothing will ever again.
