4 hours ago
Monday, April 1, 2013
It's Not the Going, It's the Goodness
He looks at me with eyes that twinkle happiness when he's awake. We've been parted a few times, this boy and I, but not very many times since he's made his appearance. He sees me and he knows that I will be good. I will feed him, clothe him, bathe him, change him, and play with him. He sees me husband and knows the same constancy. When we are not seen and we are in an unfamiliar place, though, there is fear. I see it in his eyes when I put him down and he is unsure of his environment.
I am much like a baby. I cannot see the One I will spend eternity with, and I only know of Heaven from what I've read in the Bible. Of course, there are those 'well-meaning' stories I've heard from childhood about Heaven that makes it sound like it is a place unlike I've ever imagined. The change? Will I be able to deal with it? The new Heaven and the new Earth will be closer, I believe, to what we know now minus the sin.
The fear, I think, comes from not knowing what will come, how will I get there, will I recognize other people, how will I be changed? There are no pat answers to this, because no one living has experienced it. Some things are kept secret, and I don't know all the details. However, I do know the Who. I do know who Jesus is, even though I've never seen Him. I've read enough to know He is good, and He is love. I wish, like a child, there was some kind of object permanency about Him. If I could actually see Him, I think I would know I am safe. Instead, there is a faith that takes words and trusts them. The environment will change, but I can know I wasn't really made for this world anyway, but for the next.
I pick up my son and comfort him. He relaxes into my frame, leaning his head on my shoulder. I think with Jesus it will be the same. Through all the change, I can rest on Him.
"I'm not afraid to die," I tell myself. But I remember that cold operating table, and flailing gasps for air. Grace, grace is given when it is needed, and not before. The next memories are of an elevator, and the worn, worried face of my husband. The thought that nags me is not the going, but of the goodness. I can trust to be present with Him will be good, because He is good. For today, that is enough.