A Returning

Words have returned, what a refreshing welcome to lay down the consuming thoughts that insist on swirling in my brain, to give them a place to reside and rest, to relieve my heart from carrying them. The camera has hardly been thought of lately, maybe God will choose to restore that soon, too.

 

I have discovered recently that as hard as enduring the physical separation of grief is, the unknowing of heaven itself is almost as difficult.

“Where are you, Trent?” The first words whispered while I stood next to that emergency room bed nearly two years ago. The joke between my son and I for months prior to the accident. The thoughts that won't be settled in my mind until I see paradise firsthand.

Heaven, where the glory of God is seen in its full. Where we will be welcomed onto the throne with Jesus himself. Where every tear, and every sin, will be wiped away. Where multitudes of angels dwell. Where Paul saw the inexpressible things that man is not permitted to tell. Where martyrs under the alter are crying out, “How long, Oh Lord?” The same plea I cry every morning.

The slow insanity of grief comes in the everyday trickling of “normal.” Trying to make this world the normal when Scripture says it is the temporary. Hebrews 2:14-15 tells us that Jesus shared in our humanity, the children of flesh and blood, so that by His death the power of death- that is, the devil- would be destroyed. He freed His children from the very fear of death; a fear that holds us in slavery.

To think, this very day, that my son is before this Savior while I am consumed by living here. The mortgage has to be paid, there are three meals to plan and prepare again, farm chores to be attended to, little people to love, all while so much pain and suffering is evident all around me, lost souls are everywhere, eternities are looming.