A seeming void becomes a solid ground. The sight I lost becomes the faith I’ve found.

“You can’t take it with you.”

I’ve heard those words so many times. We came into this world with nothing, and when we die, we will leave with nothing. Everything we gain will be left behind. That’s true not only of material possessions–house, clothes, books, and all the daily items we use or enjoy–but also of our jobs, our relationships, and our ministries. We will be gone, and someone else will take our place. A Josh Ritter lyric comes to mind: “That’s the sad thing with life. There’s people always leaving just as other folks arrive.”

While this is difficult to reckon with, I find it harder perhaps to reckon with the fact that even during my lifetime, hardly anything is meant to last the entire length of my days. Continue reading “A seeming void becomes a solid ground. The sight I lost becomes the faith I’ve found.”

All these memories buried inside me, I’m digging up like treasure in the ground

Good morning, friends. This is a reminder that our longings for more are gifts in themselves. Since we have fallen from Eden, our longings make sense and are meant to lead us home. Sometimes I feel ashamed of being unsatisfied—and there is such a thing as unhealthy complaining and griping—but sometimes I need to pause and examine that feeling. To remember that my life won’t be perfectly complete here. To let the longing lead me to God. Borrowing from Augustine, I will be restless until I rest in God, and God’s not done with me or you or even this earth. We are the firstfruits of new creation, but there’s more to come. If you’re in a time of questioning, of searching, of restlessness, that doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you. You’re on to something. There is more, and you’re blessed to recognize that.

 

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Title credit: “Echoes of Eden” by Matthew Perryman Jones