O Lord, I love the Temple where You live, where Your glory is. (vs.8)
Yesterday I was with my dear friend, Paula. She lost her thirty-one-year-old son last April in a car accident. There are days when she is swept away with grief, longing to hear him say: "Hi, Mom. I love you." On this side of heaven, those are words that she will hear from him only in her heart, the ears of her memory recalling them, the tone of the words, the lilt in the voice - her baby calling home. It has been a rough year. We were reminding each other of how our God sustains us, though. How often He will just do something so sweet for us that we cannot but lift our heads and look at His lovingkindness.
For Christmas, Paula's daughter-in-law, Sabrina, wanted to buy a Cabbage Patch doll for her daughter, Paula's grandchild. Sabrina wanted an original because they came with a birth certificate and were named. After wandering through many stores, she eventually found two and chose one to take home for Christmas. Paula received a call from Sabrina Christmas Day. The Cabbage Patch doll had a name: Paula. Its birthday: Sabrina's birthday. Sweet. From His tabernacle in heaven God sees the distress of a young mother and the depth of Paula's heartache. Sends a tender reminder that He knows. He sees. He cares.
From the place where His glory dwells, our Abba watches over us. He feels with us, and this particular pain is all too familiar to Him. The loss of a child. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." I do not know why He takes. I do not know why He gives in the first place. But from His place of glory He sees what we cannot. In the moment of grief so palpable that it seems our whole life is filled with it - birds croaking instead of singing, sun too hot, wind too cold, our bodies unresponsive, aching to be where our loved one just went - all there is is this overwhelming flood of heartbreak. Though we know that the moment we come into this world we are destined to leave it, the parting is wrenching and surprising.
But we do not grieve as those who have no hope. For in leaving here, those who belong to Him go there...to where His glory dwells. To run through His garden, swim in His river, eat from the fruit of His hands and bask in the wonders of a perfect habitation. Our God, of course, sees both our grief and their joy. Prayer becomes even sweeter for us who have lost one we love, for He is looking at us both, binding us together when we approach Him in His heavenly abode.
In His sweetness, God allows us a taste of His glory. A foretaste. But He is never so disconnected from us that He sits upon His throne and forgets our lives here. He cares about the name of a Cabbage Patch doll. Knows the significance of the day it was made. Just so He can show us that He is only a breath away.
Yesterday I was with my dear friend, Paula. She lost her thirty-one-year-old son last April in a car accident. There are days when she is swept away with grief, longing to hear him say: "Hi, Mom. I love you." On this side of heaven, those are words that she will hear from him only in her heart, the ears of her memory recalling them, the tone of the words, the lilt in the voice - her baby calling home. It has been a rough year. We were reminding each other of how our God sustains us, though. How often He will just do something so sweet for us that we cannot but lift our heads and look at His lovingkindness.
For Christmas, Paula's daughter-in-law, Sabrina, wanted to buy a Cabbage Patch doll for her daughter, Paula's grandchild. Sabrina wanted an original because they came with a birth certificate and were named. After wandering through many stores, she eventually found two and chose one to take home for Christmas. Paula received a call from Sabrina Christmas Day. The Cabbage Patch doll had a name: Paula. Its birthday: Sabrina's birthday. Sweet. From His tabernacle in heaven God sees the distress of a young mother and the depth of Paula's heartache. Sends a tender reminder that He knows. He sees. He cares.
From the place where His glory dwells, our Abba watches over us. He feels with us, and this particular pain is all too familiar to Him. The loss of a child. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." I do not know why He takes. I do not know why He gives in the first place. But from His place of glory He sees what we cannot. In the moment of grief so palpable that it seems our whole life is filled with it - birds croaking instead of singing, sun too hot, wind too cold, our bodies unresponsive, aching to be where our loved one just went - all there is is this overwhelming flood of heartbreak. Though we know that the moment we come into this world we are destined to leave it, the parting is wrenching and surprising.
But we do not grieve as those who have no hope. For in leaving here, those who belong to Him go there...to where His glory dwells. To run through His garden, swim in His river, eat from the fruit of His hands and bask in the wonders of a perfect habitation. Our God, of course, sees both our grief and their joy. Prayer becomes even sweeter for us who have lost one we love, for He is looking at us both, binding us together when we approach Him in His heavenly abode.
In His sweetness, God allows us a taste of His glory. A foretaste. But He is never so disconnected from us that He sits upon His throne and forgets our lives here. He cares about the name of a Cabbage Patch doll. Knows the significance of the day it was made. Just so He can show us that He is only a breath away.
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