The thoughts won't quit. Busy days,
sunshine and hard work, it should all equal a solid nights sleep. But
the thoughts still don't quit. The mornings only come earlier, the
desperation greater.
From the beginning of this grief
process numerous people have encouraged us that time would heal.
Lately, the push of the general consensus has been that it's time for
us to find our joy again here. I almost listened, my people pleasing
nature being quick to conform rather than to trust the whispers of
God.
There is more than here. So much more.
Jesus endured for the joy set before
him. Paul lived for That Day. The Apostle Peter said the inheritance
was waiting ahead of us, not here. What good would it have benefited
Trent to have lived only for here, only for now? Twelve years, his
entire life span, compared to eternity. An eternity that is somehow
based on what we do here for our Savior. Rewards and treasure to
store up there, trials and sanctification that are achieving for us an
eternal glory. A sovereign God in complete control of it all while at the same time we are responsible for our own actions in it. Our very decision to
respond to the gospel, to choose heaven or hell in a sense, and I
should just be content to be happy with some new hobby.
That concept of seeking out ultimate
joy here is no longer a reality. My soul screams out the insanity of
all these well wishers' kind words. The demeaning of the gospel in
exchange for my fleeting pleasure. Idolatry in its subtlest
form.“Seek it here,” repeated over and over again.
What a fool I must be portraying myself
to be to those who have never tasted of this depth of pain, this
desperate need for there to be more, with the only satisfaction being
found in God. What else is worth seeking out? What field is worth
selling all of my possessions for, even the giving of my very life? How
could the more be in this life? How could more joy be found in
experiences rather than in a Divine Creator?
It's pretty easy for somebody who has
held their child every night for the past twenty-seven months to tell
us to just be happy here, while really implying that we'd quit making them feel guilty, to
stop talking about eternity all the time. So many professing Christians have
mastered trying to convince the outside world and themselves that everything is all about Jesus
when really it's not. Only torturous pain will drive you to look deep
enough to ask the hard questions, to seek only God Himself. When you're bucked off the soothing
carousel ride of life and are lying flat on your back is when you finally
look up.
Christ talked about heaven constantly,
trying to explain it to his followers. Eternity. Eternity. Eternity.
He didn't seek His kingdom here, in fact he denied a worldly kingdom
when it was offered to him. He didn't build castles, establish
Facebook friends or make sure he saw all the sights and crammed every
imaginable experience into thirty-three years, rather he sought
fellowship with God, pursued heavenly missions, battled for
obedience, waited patiently for the glory due him.
The Apostle Paul was warned about how
he would suffer for the sake of the gospel. Somehow, his joy was
found in that honor. How my brain battles with this concept. How much
easier it would be to content myself with believing the words of
those who encourage me to just seek out the good things God has given
me for the rest of the days I am here. “He made them for your joy,
so enjoy them,” I hear over and over.
Common grace, yes, but past the sun and
the croaking spring frogs and the new birth of farm animals is God
himself. I can't get enough of Him to fully notice the rest. But
there's not enough of Him that this sinful flesh part of me can drink
in because of the physical separation of heaven and earth. It's not
that I've grieved too long, or I need to get on with life, or I need
a new hobby. It's that I truly long only for God. Substitutes won't satisfy. It really is all about God, glory and the gospel.