The other day I was organizing my clothes and came upon a t-shirt that I haven’t worn yet since coming to Haiti. I decided to wear it and put it on. It was a shirt that Keturah had given me just before leaving home. It still smelled like her. It made me so homesick I almost started crying.
I think it’s a bit worse because I am working on writing about the year we lived in the little house on Rural Ave. I desperately miss my two roommates and the laughter and tears we shared at that point in our lives. Since that time my life has been such a roller coaster- I think in my subconscious I am always trying to return to that period, back when life made sense and God seemed so close.
Then at times I go back a little further, to the days when we all went to Rhema. Back to when I found safety and love within the walls of a church. Back to when every Sunday I would rush to get ready, longing to be there for every possible minute because maybe; just maybe- I might hear God speaking to me again.
At times I trip back even further than that. Back to the days in Florida when Brianna and I spent almost every afternoon together. Back to when we would go for long walks and talk about the phenomenon of hearing God speak to us for the first time.
Then other times I go back even a little further. Back to living at ABI. The time when I ran carefree through the open fields and made dandelion chains and dreamed of a fairy land where all sorts of adventures happened. Even there within my dream-worlds I always had a Savior. The king who would come rescue the little girl and place a dandelion crown upon her head.
Sometimes I think that for me, heaven will be like a continual beautiful memory. It’ll be a place where I can make dandelion chains and walk with Brianna and giggle with Keturah and Delite and dance at the throne of the King in the midst of a throng of people who I know and who know me and together, we’ll listen to God speak his love over us. And, of course, as we’re singing songs of worship, the King will step down and place a crown of dandelions on my head and more than that, he’ll wipe my tears and never again will there be any sorrow or pain.
I’ve been reading the last chapter of Revelation over and over again lately. I think there are days when I can hardly stand being here because things seem so hopeless. I can watch people hurt each other and listen to children crying but I can’t stop them. Yet, there is a promise of things to come. Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb, down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of the God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever.
And that promise, I cling to as I live out each day. That the time will come when this nation will be healed. No more curse. No more sorrow. No more tears. It is hopeless when we think of only what we can do because, in truth, we can do nothing. But God, in his love and mercy, will someday touch this place and what is rapidly turning into a dry barren land will be washed anew. The children won’t cry anymore and the people will stop hammering nails of hatred and thoughtlessness into each other.
He who testifies to these things say, "Yes, I am coming soon." Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
No comments:
Post a Comment