Lattes, the Hallelujah Chorus, and Heaven...

My eyes are tired, but open. Propped, glazed, fixed by the caffeine I so foolishly imbibed this evening. 


My old age is peeking out. I used to be able to drink coffee at 10 p.m. and be sound asleep by 10:17. Now, after a 4 p.m. latte, I stare at my ceiling, willing myself to fall asleep.


Tonight, in my sleeplessness, I propped my chin in my hands, snuggled under my down blanket, and traced the moonlight on the tree outside my window. My eyes wouldn't close. Foot tapping, and tired eyes staring, I began to think of today.


Today was a day of exceptional blessings--worship with the family of God, coffee talks (hence the sleeplessness) with delightful sisters in Christ, singing at the top of my lungs with a mass of other believers.


Yet in all this blessing, I was rather wistful. Longing. We talked about it briefly over lattes. Despite a life full of happiness and Starbucks, I still yearn for something yet to come. As I become older, and as I see more of who I am and how truly broken and fallen the world is, I become increasingly anxious for Christ to come back. 


I want to see Him. I want to worship Him, uninterrupted, forever, free from the sin which wraps itself into the very acts which should be most honoring to Him: my prayers, my praise, my meditation. I go from praising God with every fiber of my being, to blatant pride in a split second. I'm so tired of my sin. It is forever sprouting heads like the mythological Greek Hydra... I slice off one head, only to have two more grow.


Imagine the pure, unadulterated joy of praising God. Forever. Have you ever heard a really good performance of Handel's Messiah? When the "Hallelujah Chorus" bursts onto the scene, goosebumps run up and down my arms. 


Imagine that. Only better. Fuller. With every voice of everyone who has ever proclaimed Christ as Lord joining with you. Perfectly. The thunder of the praise, bounding into the stars, spreading infinitely throughout the galaxy, proclaiming what creation has sung for years: "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge."


And as I lay there, tracing moonlit branches, again and again, I wondered, "What am I doing? What am I doing right now to "redeem this time"?"


I know that these "days are evil," but that my purpose in proclaiming the glory of God does not start when I join the multitude in heaven. No, I am told that I am to "shine among [the world] like stars in the sky." I am already designed to portray the glory of God. Here. Now. Flawed. Sinful. Weary. God could have chosen to make me perfect at the moment of salvation, but we all know that didn't happen.


Why?


Because something that I don't understand, something in this battle, which "is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms," something about my struggle to conform to Christ, brings God more glory than immediate perfection.


So, while I wait to join in heaven's immortal "Hallelujah Chorus," am I waiting passively? Or am I actively redeeming each moment. Each second. Each action. Taking "captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ." 


Because, before I sing with that multitude, even more than worshipping with the amazing servants who have gone before, I want to hear my Savior say, "'You remain true to my name. You did not renounce your faith in me.' 'Well done...'"


How good it will be to go home...






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Scripture used:
Revelations 2:13
II Corinthians 10:5
Ephesians 6:12
Philippians 2:15
Ephesians 5:16
Psalm 19:1-2
Luke 19:17

How much would my life change if I thought of each person I came in contact with as Christ?

Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.

Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

May my daily interactions, conversations, and service be colored by the realization that Christ is my motivation and my passion. May the knowledge of who my Savior is eclipse all deterrents to serving Him through those I meet.

May my "attitude be the same as that of Christ Jesus."

Well, I know what God looks like!

A little boy with a tow-headed mop of hair and somber gray eyes looks up at me. I wiggle the magnet board of shooting stars and planets in front of him.

"Look, Adam*! We can play with the outer space magnets now! Which ones would you like? Oooh... look at the funny green alien."

He soberly shakes his head. He's already turned all the the magnets over, again and again. With a sigh, he looks up at me,

"There's no picture of God. It's outer space. There should be a picture of God."

I choke back an unholy shriek of laughter. "It would probably be pretty hard to draw a picture of God. He's so big, you know."

He shakes his little emphatic head, "No, I know what God looks like. They taught me in school."

I'm intrigued, and also wondering where this heretical (or amazing) school is located, "What does God look like, Adam? Tell me." (There's a speech therapy exercise for you!)

"Um... well... He's big... you know... and, uh... hmmm..." He stammers to silence.

There's a pause. He fiddles with the green alien before saying, "Um... well we could just play with the aliens..."



Apparently not even speech therapy can help you coherently describe God.



*name has been changed.

Dear Courtney,

One must not labor under the delusion that your faithful, long-suffering readership has endured months of silence and a subsequent web-address change and are waiting to hang on your every word. One cannot not cuddle back into the comfort of forgiving readers and rest on non-existent laurels. No, instead one must acknowledge that a new journey into the world of blogging is now to be made.


You are older (albeit, none the wiser) and you have new adventures to address with a torrent of words.

 And just as six-year old you used to curl up her legs, earnestly grip her pencil and write out her goals for the year to come, so you must now pull your apple cider a smidge closer, furrow your brow, and address the purpose of these ramblings...


First and foremost, it is my firm belief that through the power of the written word, the nature of Christ, the glory of God, and the helping of the Holy Spirit can be permanently and repeatedly placed on display for all to read. I hope to do this.


Second, having gleaned so much joy and wiled so many hours reading the work of others, I can only hope to provide a slice of that same pleasure.


Third: I. Must. Write. It provides coherency and color to my life. It makes joy tangible, faith stronger, and trials bearable. I love to write.


And so, dear reader, I venture out, once again, into the world of the written word. What adventures shall we experience together?