Enjoying Now What We Don’t Have Yet

vloveland / Pixabay

This past week, Lindsey, our 11-year-old daughter, became the first child in our family and the first grandchild on either side to win a college scholarship.

Her scholarship, presented at the fifth grade awards ceremony, was for reading. Earning it involved taking tests over various books of her choice, then accruing points depending on how well she scored on each test. Despite the fact that she only started public school in January, Lindsey had earned the most test points. She had also received credit for 2.5 million words (the first-place student, who had been there all year, had 3.4 million words).

Each of the six students who won a reading scholarship was called up onto the stage, given a medal, and presented with a large, foam-board “check” and a ball cap from the college the student had previously indicated he or she would be interested in attending one day.

Lindsey’s smile said it all. She was, and is, pretty thrilled—despite the fact that she hasn’t actually received the money yet. That’s because she won’t actually receive it until she enrolls in a four-year university and provides proof of enrollment to the foundation that sponsors the scholarships. When she does that, the money will officially be hers.

Why is she so happy now, if she doesn’t have the money yet?

Because she is 100% certain that one day, she will.

If Lindsey had any doubts about the commitment of the donor, or his ability to follow through, she wouldn’t be nearly as excited. She might appreciate that she’d been recognized during the assembly, and she’d probably feel hopeful that the donor would come through one day, but she wouldn’t feel the same joy that she feels now. Lindsey’s joy is based on her certainty that one day, she will receive what has been promised.

Life can be hard. Sometimes, it’s agonizing. But what if you could be certain, in the midst of the sorrow, that there will come a day when life is no longer hard? That tears of grief will never again wet your cheeks? That you will never again feel lonely, or inadequate, or hopeless?

What if you could be 100% certain that someday, someone would take away all your pain forever? That you would never again sin, or be sinned against? That all that’s wrong with this world would one day be made right, and that you would experience joy beyond anything you can now imagine?

Actually…you can. You can be that certain of all those things. That’s because Jesus has promised that this world is not all there is. He’s promised to come back for us—all those that love Him—and to take us to live with Him forever.

Too often, we make the mistake of thinking of heaven as some kind of eternity-long church service, and we’re understandably not too excited about that. But if that’s all we think it is, then we just don’t understand it at all.

Heaven is seeing Jesus’ face with no sin barriers between us. It’s never-ending joy. It’s eternal fellowship with people who will always treat us right. It’s never feeling less-than or unable. It’s no more physical limitations. Basically, heaven is the fulfillment of everything we’ve ever longed for, even if we didn’t know that’s what we wanted.

Lindsey is completely certain that one day, she will receive what was promised her. And she will—provided there isn’t some horrible catastrophe that wipes out the entire eastern seaboard, where the sponsoring organization is based.

You and I can be even more certain that we will receive what we were promised, because nothing can thwart God’s purposes or cause Him to be unable to make good on His word.

Whenever Lindsey remembers her scholarship, she will be encouraged that someone invested in her (even at 11 years old, she’s already thinking about it this way).

You and I can be encouraged that Jesus Himself said He was going to invest in getting things ready for us.

So when life gets hard—when we’re tired, frustrated, or grieving—may we remember that this is not all there is.

May we remember heaven, where Jesus is even now preparing perfection for us.

And may we begin to enjoy now what we don’t have yet.

John 14:2-3—“In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for us? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” (ESV)

Why I’m Longing for Easter Right Now

Easter TombSometimes, you know something, but you don’t really know it.

Maybe you know it for years, and then all of a sudden, one day, the topic comes up in a fresh way, and you have this epiphany that causes you to see things in a whole new light. And you wonder, Why didn’t I think of that before???

I’ve known for years that Jesus lived in unspeakable glory in heaven with the Father and the Holy Spirit. Likewise, I’ve known that Jesus came to earth, which wasn’t really glorious at all in comparison, and that while He was on earth, He suffered all kinds of indignities and mistreatments (the biggest one being, of course, His murder).

But God reached down to my heart and mind through the words of this week’s sermon and helped me “get it” in a way I never got it before.

Lately, I’ve been struggling with, well, lots of things. Lots of pressure, stress, discouragement, and grief. I’ve been asking some raw questions. Why do I have to suffer so much? Haven’t I had far more than my fair share of suffering in this life? Is life going to be like this forever?

But, Lent.

For those of you who don’t know, or who never really thought about it (as I didn’t until becoming a member of the Anglican church), Lent is basically the 40 days preceding Easter. On Mardi Gras, or “Fat Tuesday” (which I know you’ve heard of), people have a party. The idea is that the next day, Ash Wednesday, they begin to engage in the spiritual disciplines of denial.

One reason for this denial to remember Christ’s suffering here on earth—not just His suffering on the cross, but His suffering in even having to be here at all.

Even Jesus suffered on earth, which led to my first realization: Why shouldn’t I suffer? Do I really think that I deserve to escape that which even Christ had to go through? If only I could remain on the Mount of Transfiguration, basking in the glow. But I can’t. Even Jesus had to come down off the mountaintop, and so do I. That spiritual glow that I feel sometimes when I’m feeling particularly close to God and all is right with the world is only a step on the way to the Garden and to Golgotha.

I can’t remain on the mountaintop forever.

Lent is basically a microcosm of life. We start out grandly and gloriously on Mardi Gras (as Jesus started out grandly and gloriously in heaven). Then, we enter into suffering, just as Jesus did. Some people who observe Lent also observe a “break”, where they do not have to observe the denial they’ve been observing through the rest of the season. That’s kind of like how it is in life. We get breaks sometimes. The fact that we suffer doesn’t mean there are never any good days.

But after the break, it’s back to suffering. Until…Easter! Just as Jesus suffered until, well, Easter, when He again returned to His former glory and no longer suffers.

Friend, hear me: Easter is coming for us, too. For you and for me. And praise God that it is! Our suffering won’t last forever. It might seem like it’s eternal, but it isn’t. Easter (or, in our case, heaven!) is coming.

It’s coming as surely as seasons pass, and days, weeks, months and years. Each moment of suffering that we endure is only getting us closer to our Easter, the time when everything will once again be made glorious.

It isn’t quite Lent, yet. Maybe that corresponds to the fact that life is pretty good for you right now. It’s even pretty good for me. When I step back and look at the things that are weighing heavily upon me, I have to realize that I still have a pretty good life. But suffering will come. In some form or fashion, it will come.

But it won’t stay, at least not forever.

Easter is on the way.

Revelation 7:17—The Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. (ESV)

In Remembrance

On Saturday, I received word that my stepfather had died suddenly from a heart attack.

We knew he had heart problems, including previous heart attacks. We knew his heart was failing. What we didn’t know was that on Saturday, as he and my mother sat at the kitchen table eating lunch, he would suddenly stop in the middle of a sentence and be gone.

Just like that.

Paramedics took him to the hospital, where doctors and nurses did everything they could to save him.

But he was already gone.

The news came in a phone call from a beloved uncle (my mom’s brother). At first, it didn’t hit me emotionally. I said the things that had to be said and asked the right questions before hanging up. I didn’t cry until I went to tell my husband, who had just arrived home.

Then, I cried.

And then, I remembered.

I remembered a man who was always kind and gentle. Literally always. He and my mom got married when I was in sixth grade, and from that point until now, I never saw or heard him being unkind to me or to anyone else. Never.

Not one time.

Someday, unless the Lord returns first, my loved ones will get news of my passing. And I wonder what the first thing is that they will remember about me.

In order for some beautiful quality like kindness or love to be the first thing they think of, that quality has to characterize me now. My loved ones can’t remember about me what they never saw in me in the first place.

Oh, God, help me to be the kind of person now that I want to be remembered as then. Work in me, and through me, and make me the kind of person who will glorify You and bless others abundantly. Thank You for the example of my stepfather Ron, who was always, unfailingly, kind and gentle.

Ronald Rae Sheets
b. November 11, 1943
d. January 16, 2016
Kind. Gentle. Loved.

Matthew 25:23—“His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’”

Ron Sheets

Independence Day

FireworksThis past week, we in the United States celebrated our Independence Day (usually known as the Fourth of July), the day in 1776 we declared ourselves to be our own country under our own rule. There are as many ways to celebrate the Fourth as there are families in America. Our family’s celebration included burgers for lunch and going to a water park in the afternoon. (Fortunately for us, our Mexican neighbors’ celebration included cooking out on their grill and bringing us a bunch of their extra food.)

Every year when this holiday comes around, the stores gear up for it in advance. They run sales on steaks and sunscreen, chips and beach towels. Families make plans to attend fireworks displays and spend special time together. And all of it is in celebration of the day our ancestors affirmed themselves to be their own nation, a decision with far-reaching consequences and benefits that reach forward in time to this very day.

As Christians, however, we have an Independence Day to celebrate that observes far more than the day we became a nation. Actually, we have two Independence Days. One of them has already come, and the other is still in the future.

Our first Independence Day came when we accepted Christ and He declared us to be His. No longer were we slaves to sin. We were independent from sin, free to choose Christ. As our rector said in church this morning, there are many ways to be enslaved, and before you and I met Christ, we were slaves to sin. But Christ set us free from sin and its rule over us. No longer do we have to obey it as our master. We are now under different rule, a freely chosen government, which is Christ.

You see, accepting Christ doesn’t just mean that Christ frees us from sin so we can live however we want to live, free from restrictions set by anybody. He sets us free from sin for the purpose of inviting us to come under His rule, a rule which guides us into abundant life.

That was our first Independence Day—when we were freed to choose Christ.

Our second Independence Day has not yet come. That’s because the second Day will come only when we reach heaven. In heaven, there will be no more sin. Yes, we’re free from having to obey it down here, but sometimes, out of pure insanity or perhaps misunderstanding of the fact that it has no hold on us anymore, we still choose to obey sin. In heaven, we will no longer choose sin over obeying God.

Already there is no more slavery. But in heaven, there will be no more sin, either.

I’ve already had my first Independence Day, and I pray you have too. (If you haven’t, contact me, and I’ll be glad to introduce you to the One who can set you free.) But I long for the second Day, too. Don’t you?

Galatians 5:1—For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery. (ESV)

Hope Now

If you’ve been following my devotions for very long, you know I love writing about heaven. I love thinking about the incredible things God has planned for us and wants us to look forward to; I love encouraging others to do the same. I’m glad and relieved to know that heaven awaits me—that this life isn’t all there is.

But something a friend said the other day on a different topic got me to thinking. It’s great to know that one day, all our troubles will be over. It’s marvelous to have heaven to look forward to. It’s fantastic to have hope in the future.

But we need hope now, too.

We need hope on those days where everything goes wrong. We need hope when grief is crushing us. We need hope not only that things will be better someday, but that we can make it through this day.

Precious mom who needs hope, let me tell you something: hope is exactly what Jesus came to give you. Not just for heaven, but for right now.

Do you need hope that someone will completely, perfectly love you and meet all your emotional needs? God will do that Himself. Sometimes He uses others to help Him minister His love to you, but even when others fail, He can—and will!—pour His love into you until your heart overflows.

Do you need hope that eventually, the wounds others caused in your life will heal? One of God’s names is Jehovah-Rapha, meaning God Who Heals. He can heal those scars in your heart and soul, the scars you think nobody else truly understands, because He does understand. And He can make you whole.

Do you hope against hope that someday, you will feel like you really matter? Like you’re infinitely worthwhile? God has declared repeatedly in His Word that you are already incredibly precious to Him. And He’s willing to repeat it to you over and over, and to confirm it with His love and by His Spirit within you, until you believe it.

Do you need hope that you can make it through another day? He’ll give you His strength to keep going when you feel like you just can’t.

Do you desperately hope that you’re doing a good enough job of being a mom? He’ll show you exactly what to do to be “good enough”—and it’s probably not as hard as you think. You can be a good enough mom. You can even hear Him say it.

If you put your hope in having pleasing or easy circumstances, you’re going to be disappointed, probably often. But if you put your hope in God Himself, you will never be disappointed. That’s because true, life-giving hope is found not in circumstances but in God Himself, and He’s guaranteed that He will never leave your nor forsake you.

Not just at the end of life. But right now.

Deuteronomy 31:6—Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of [anything], for it is the LORD your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. (ESV)

Note:
If you’d like to know more about heaven, eternal life, or the kind of hope you can have right now, I encourage you to contact me through my website or to read some of the materials already there under “How to Know God”. I’d love to hear from you.

3:00 p.m.

Kenny is Ready for SchoolRecently, my husband and I made the difficult decision to temporarily enroll our son Kenny in public school. It was a tough call because we knew God had called us to be a homeschooling family, yet we also knew that Kenny needed the help the public school could provide in working on some speech and social issues.

We prayed and sought God, and God made it clear in various ways that right now, He is expanding our family’s calling to being a public school family as well. So last Tuesday, we enrolled Kenny in our local school.

In processing this decision, I posted about it on Facebook. One particular comment said I would really miss having Kenny home with me all day. “I know it will take some getting used to on both of your parts,” a friend of mine responded, “but just think of the joy at the end of each day.”

Oh, yes, I could imagine the reunion with my precious son. And in that same moment, I realized that this is how God feels about us.

I long for 3:00, when I can pick Kenny up and take him home. God longs for a day and hour sometime in the future (only He knows the exact moment) when His Son will descend to pick us up and take us home to heaven. And if I, being evil, long for my son with that much love, how much more does a perfectly holy and loving God long for His children—us?

Each day I get excited when 2:45 rolls around and it’s time to get ready. And we know that even now, God is getting things ready for the day and hour He chose before the foundation of the world to pick us up. How much more excited is God at picking up all His children and seeing His plan for the ages come to completion?

One of the things I love best about getting Kenny is that I get to see his face. That’s because his face is precious to me. When I look at him, I see so much more than his physical attributes. I see his spirit and his personality. I see my beloved son.

God, too, is waiting to see us face-to-face. Oh, sure, He can see our faces now. But we can’t see His. Yet He, and we, both know that there is coming a time when we will be able to see each other face to face. How excited must God be as He contemplates being able to show His face to His beloved children! And how excited we should be in realizing that for the first time ever in our life, we will be able to look at the face of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer! Our Provider, Comforter, and Savior. Our Strength. Our Almighty God.

Precious mom, I can’t wait for that day. It’s going to be the best day ever when that happens, and then eternity will only get more and more joyful and glorious from then on.

The next time you pick up your child, whether from school, daycare, a friend’s house, or somewhere else, stop just a moment. Stop right there in the busyness of your day. Think about how much joy you feel upon seeing your child’s face. And think how excited God is right now, waiting for the day when He will see your face.

Because as beloved as your child is to you, you are far more beloved to God. As much as you long to see your child, God longs for you even more. “One day, I’ll send my Son for you,” He tells us over and over in the pages of Scripture. “Because I can’t wait to see you.”

1 Corinthians 13:12—Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

In Heaven

Some days, heaven seems like such an ephemeral concept. I’m fully convinced that one day, one of two things will happen: either I’ll close my eyes on earth and wake up in heaven, or the Lord Jesus will return for His faithful at His Second Coming. But in the midst of the ordinariness of life down here, heaven sometimes doesn’t seem very tangible to me.

Please don’t misunderstand: I believe that heaven is real. I believe it’s an actual, physical place I will one day inhabit by the grace of God, along with others who have loved His Son and longed for His appearing. But does heaven feel real to me? Not always.

You see, the greatest thing about heaven is not just that I’ll get to avoid going to hell, which is also very real. The most mind-blowing thing about heaven is that I’ll get to live in the presence of God for all eternity and see His face. And that’s the difficulty. My mind is blown.

When I try to meditate on what it will be like to see the face of the One who died for me, I can’t truly comprehend it. I feel as if I’ve touched the lapping water at the edge of the seashore without being able to wade in. I’ve had a taste of the ocean, but venturing farther would overwhelm me.

Other things about heaven, however, are easier to grasp. Revelation 21:4 tells me that after God wipes all the tears from my eyes for what happened on earth, I will never cry again. Neither will heaven hold any more death, mourning, or pain in store for me.

Now that, I can imagine! I enjoy my life on earth—a lot—but it’s not perfect. At times, pain has intruded, and I’ve been hurt. I’d love to live in a place where I knew that would never happen again.

In heaven, I will, starting with the redemption of my body. I won’t feel physical pain anymore. I won’t get sick or suffer from allergies, the flu, or something worse.

My body will never be weak or tired. I’ll never have to haul myself through another day, weary beyond belief. I’ll never lack the energy to do the things my heart desires to do.

I won’t need bifocal contacts anymore. My knee won’t ache when the barometric pressure changes. My body won’t deteriorate as I get old. I’ll become—and remain—physically strong, healthy, and whole.

Not only that, but I’ll be emotionally unbroken. Instead of experiencing pain when I think about what was done to me, or what failed to be done for me, I will rejoice at God’s grace in carrying me through.

In heaven, I’ll never be rejected by someone whose acceptance I longed for. I’ll never be lonely. I’ll never be left out, misunderstood, or brushed aside. I won’t hurt anyone else, either.

I’ll never try my hardest and still fail, or find that my best efforts weren’t good enough. I’ll never be frustrated, discouraged, or at my wits’ end.

I won’t struggle to relate to God anymore. I won’t sin.

My heart will never be broken on my children’s behalf because of what they have to endure, because they’ll be there with me in that perfect place. My Savior is their Savior, too.

What will I be able to do? I’ll be able to eat my fill of bread without worrying what it will do to my blood sugar. I’ll be able to run from here to there without asthma squeezing my chest so tightly I can’t breathe. I won’t be allergic to strawberries.

I’ll get to be with most of the people I love forever. I’ll meet some I never met on earth, including my precious babies. I’ll relate to some people like I’ve always wanted to on earth, and I’ll talk with them in ways I’ve only dreamed of.

I’ll never have to say goodbye to loved ones ever again. I’ll never have to grieve over losing them, because there will be no more death in that place.

I will be constantly, completely, infinitely loved as the person God created me to be, and I will feel loved. Forever. For all eternity.

A heaven like that, I can imagine. That kind of place seems real.

I consider myself abundantly blessed in this life, but if it weren’t for the fact that my family needs me, I’d be ready to go Home now. As good as life can be at times, I’m more than ready to leave the shadowlands behind and enter the brilliant perfection of the Home I was made for.

Until then, when pain and grief assault me and I long for something better—something more—I’ll trust God to carry me through. Because one day, this life will be over, and I’ll be alive in ways I’ve only imagined.

I can’t wait.

Revelation 21:4—He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

Entitled

I warn you: if you love baseball, this devotional is going to make you jealous. You might get jealous even if you don’t love baseball. That’s because…well, let me explain.

Recently, we received a very generous gift: four tickets to a major league baseball game. We were seated in the front row of the ballpark. Right. Behind. Home. Plate. Despite having ticketed seats, we arrived at the ballpark an hour before the game. That’s because a complimentary sirloin and seafood buffet was also included at a restaurant upstairs. After stuffing ourselves silly, we left the restaurant and proceeded toward the section where our seats were located. As we came to the top of the stairs, an attendant stood ready to check our tickets. The attendant looked at my ticket, smiled, and said, “Go on down!” He gestured toward the front row.

The section was pretty full, and as we walked down the stairs, we passed between rows and rows of people, all seated and waiting for the game to start. We kept descending, passing more and more seats. We walked right to the front row, where another attendant met us and checked our tickets again to make sure not only that we belonged in that section, View of Baseball Game from Front Rowbut that we belonged in one of the front two rows. The ones with comfy seats, and a game program, popcorn, and peanuts waiting for us. Where the aforementioned attendant would get us anything we needed throughout the game. We sat down in our seats and settled in comfortably, just in time to watch the first batter walk to the plate only yards in front of us.

Obviously, it was an amazing experience. It was one we never could have achieved on our own. But because of our friend’s gift, we belonged there.

Yet as incredible as this gift was, I’ve received one that’s even greater. So have you, if you’ve committed your life to Christ. When Christ is your Friend, you get far more than the chance to enjoy your beloved sport in grand style—you also gain access to God Himself and to His heaven. Someday, just as I walked into that ballpark, you and I will walk into heaven itself, and we will belong there. We’ll have a right to be there because Christ purchased our access for us. We’ll walk boldly not to the front row, but to the throne of grace. We’ll spend eternity not in the presence of an attendant who will bring us bottled water, but in the presence of the God who created water, and everything else that is.

Sometimes, we don’t feel worthy to enter God’s heaven and approach Him boldly. You know what? We’re not worthy. None of us can demand to sit in the front row because of who we are. We can only take our seats there because of who our Friend is. Likewise, when we have a front-row ticket, we shouldn’t be sitting up in the nosebleed seats because we don’t feel worthy to use the ticket. Again, it doesn’t matter one single bit who we are. Those attendants at the ballpark didn’t care who I was. All they cared about was that the person who purchased those tickets said we belonged. She didn’t say we belonged in the farthest reaches of the bleachers. She said we belonged right down there behind home plate. It would have been ridiculous for us to accept the tickets she offered, then refuse to sit where we were assigned because we didn’t feel good enough. She paid the price. She gets to determine who sits in those seats. Likewise, Jesus paid the price for those who believe in Him. He gets to determine that those people get to enter heaven.

The ballpark analogy falls a little short of the heavenly one, however. As amazing as those tickets were, they didn’t entitle me to access to the dugout or to the playing field. I couldn’t just waltz over, sit down by the star pitcher, and strike up a conversation. I would have been thrown out. Maybe thrown in jail. What Jesus purchased for us, however, allows us full access to heaven and, more importantly, to God. Jesus didn’t purchase one of heaven’s nosebleed seats (though even that would have been more than we deserved). He didn’t allow us to come only so far, but no farther. He purchased the best seats in the house: the seats right in God’s lap.

The luxury of that ballgame was a privilege to be enjoyed for a few hours, and then for all the times I will think of the memories we made there. But God intends for us to enjoy the magnificence of heaven for all eternity. The game’s never going to end. We’ll never have to leave. We’ll never pick our way through peanut shells and dropped coupons for free tacos, thinking that the experience was nice while it lasted. We’ll enjoy heaven forever and ever, and unlike a baseball game that might go to 47 innings, we’ll never become bored. Our delight will increase throughout all eternity.

This is what the old line in the song “Blessed Assurance” means—“oh, what a foretaste of glory divine”. Any pleasure we enjoy on this earth is but a dim reflection of the joy waiting for us in heaven. And if I enjoyed that game as much as I did, I can only imagine what heaven will be like!

Someday, I won’t have to imagine anymore. I’ll know what heaven’s like, because I’ll be there. You will too, if you’ve given your life to the Lord. Why, because we deserve it? No. Because our Friend has paid the price. Do you have your ticket?

Hebrews 4:14-16—Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

Heaven at McDonald’s

One day a few weeks ago, the kids and I were on our way home from the YMCA. It was near lunchtime, and as they usually do, the kids began lobbying for stopping at McDonald’s for lunch. This time, I said yes.

“Yayyyyy!” they shouted.

I was glad to take them. I didn’t feel like cooking anyway. I also love it when I get major brownie points from the kids for doing something I’m happy to do. Then, too, I still love McDonald’s, as I have since I was a kid. So I drove them to the one we usually visit.

Immediately when we got inside, the kids headed for the play area. I gave the clerk our order, watching as they piled the tray three feet high with our meals. I grabbed the ketchup and straws and a handful of napkins and found a table in the play area.

The kids ate about half their meals, then decided it was time to go play. They ran off, leaving me at the table by myself, which was fine. It was actually rather peaceful. I opened the book I’d brought with me and began to read.

I read for a few minutes, periodically looking up to check for the kids. One, two, three, four. Good. All there.

When it was finally time to go, I slipped a bookmark between the pages and closed the book. I was really beginning to enjoy it and wished I didn’t have to stop reading.

You see, the book was about heaven. I’d just had the chance to sit and contemplate the glorious place that will be my eternal home. No wonder I was reluctant to get moving. No wonder I’d felt so at peace. What could be better than meditating on heaven and the God Who awaits me there?

Incredibly, this magnificent, loving God had given me a taste of heaven right there in the middle of the McDonald’s playland. Sitting there on a yellow plastic bench, my soul was able to commune with Him as I imagined the place He has prepared for me.

If imagining heaven while in the midst of laughing, shouting kids and the smell of french fries was so wonderful, how much more wonderful will it be when I actually get there? I love the life God has given me, but I do long for that day when I will reach the home I was made for and live forever with the God I love.

Until then, I’ll have to read about heaven, meditate on it, and ask the Holy Spirit to communicate even a fraction of its glories to me. I won’t be able to fully understand or experience heaven until I’m there.

But I will be able to sit in a plastic booth and connect with the One who created both me and heaven, because God can bring a touch of heaven anytime, anywhere.

So the next time you go to McDonald’s and eat in the playland, and you see a mom reading a book and occasionally looking up to check for her kids with a big grin on her face, that’s probably me.

Come join me. Let’s think about heaven together. After all, we’ll both be there one day. So let’s learn about our future home. Let’s be grateful that God lets us experience tastes of it now. And may our we respond to these glimpses of our future home with glory and praise to the One Who has prepared it for us.

1 Corinthians 2:9—No eye has seen, nor ear heard, and it has not occurred to the heart of man, what God has prepared for those who love him.

Swinging

Like most children, mine love going to the park. They enjoy being outdoors and roaming free. They have a great time climbing and sliding. But most of all, they love the swings.

Recently, I took them to a new (to us) park. They had their choice of novel play equipment to conquer, an open field to run around in, or trees to climb. They ignored it all and headed straight for the swings.

I can understand why. After all, what’s not to love about swinging? When you swing, you get to soar higher than you can on your own. You swoosh through the air with the freedom of flying. You experience adrenaline and excitement. You savor the thrill of soaring up, up, up until all you can see is blue sky. You have to swoop back down, but you don’t mind, because you know that in a minute, you’ll fly again. Your grin is huge, your joy boundless.

“Faster! Faster!” you beg, and your mother or father pushes you higher until you are breathless with laughter. The ride is wild and crazy and endless.

Until…it ends. Maybe that’s the only thing that’s not to love about swinging. Because all too soon, your mom or dad says, “It’s time to go home.” You have to slow down and drag your feet in the dirt until your swing stops. “Please just a little longer?” you beg. But the answer is no. You get off and trudge to the car, leaving bliss behind, and you go home with your mother or father.

The Christian life, too, is a wild, joyous ride. You start out small, before the pushes really get you going. With help, you get to where you are pumping your legs with all your might and swinging in extended, graceful arcs. Rocketing upwards brings such joy that you almost forget you ever have to come down.

But unlike a park swing, plummeting downward in life is usually painful. You hope it lasts only an instant, but sometimes, an instant turns into an eon. You slow down, and you don’t have the strength in yourself to get going again. You know it’s going to take someone to push you, to do for you what you can’t do for yourself. Why is it taking so long? you wonder. Why do I have to stay down here, when I want to be up there?

But then, just before forever, you realize that you’re swinging again. Cautiously, you pump your legs, and you find yourself swinging higher. You feel the pushes at your back, you pump harder, and before you know it, you’re once again experiencing the thrill of soaring into the sky. Maybe it’s a different kind of thrill now. Maybe you appreciate it even more, because you know what it’s like to hang motionless at the bottom of the arc. Maybe now, instead of bringing giggles to your lips, the thrill brings profound joy to your soul.

And then, just like swinging at a park, one day, the wild ride is over. You descend from your arc, and you know that it was the last time. Your swing begins to slow, because the pushes aren’t coming anymore. You hear the words from behind you: It’s time to go.

Scuff. Scuff. You drag your shoes in the dirt, and slowly, the scuffs get closer together. Finally, your swing stops. Your ride is over. You loosen your hands from the chains. As you get off, you stretch out your hand. Your Father takes it. And you go home with your Father.

Only this time, you don’t leave bliss behind. This time, you get to enter into a bliss more wondrous than you’ve ever imagined. The ecstasy of being home makes the joyous ride on the swings pale in comparison.

Because the swings were never your home. Even when your ride was at its height, you weren’t home. You had the privilege and pleasure of enjoying the ride for awhile. But it was never the true ride. It wasn’t the ride you were made for.

Precious friend, don’t get so caught up in the dips and swoops of swinging that they become everything to you. They are nothing more than how you pass the time until you get to go home. Someday, the One standing behind you and urging you onward and upward is going to stand in front of you. You’ll get to see His face for the first time. And then your ride begins…when you get off the swings and go Home.

Revelation 21:3b-4—God himself will be with them and be their God. There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

2 Peter 3:13—But in keeping with his promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness.