Live to Die.

Well, it's certainly been a minute since I've found my way here with all of my thoughts and musings. At this point, I'm confident that it doesn't matter if there's anyone on the other side to affirm (or disagree with) my diatribes. At the heart, I know wrestling my thoughts onto a page is the only way that I can live at peace with them.

When something moves me, the pen, the keyboard— this is where I land. And, boy, where do I begin? The moral of the story is that by living, I've learned that life is hard. Struggle and despair are real. If not for me, for my neighbor, my roommate, my loved ones. Day to day, week to week, year to year. It's not always the joyful adventure I remember as a kid, or even clawed after as a young adult. Life is strung together by difficult seasons, peppered with what I once heard called "forgetful joys."

 As children of God we were never promised health, wealth, and happiness. Find me that scripture and I'll then amend the way I've been praying. No, in fact, we were promised suffering. But, we do not suffer as those without hope. In fact, the hardship of this life, according to the Word, prepares us to carry the immense heft of God's glory...later. There's the good news.

And, gosh it's GOOD. Because if it weren't for the life we anticipate with Christ, this toil, toil under the sun would sometimes be too much to endure. But, I'm (in this moment in fleeting time) so very thankful that this present is not enduring. Because yesterday (and maybe tomorrow), I'll forget and spend more energy flitting about like it is.

When I see death as the end to this and the beginning to something better, it does indeed make me want to capitalize on the now. Look close, think long and hard, and find a million reasons to despair. But, beneath all of the very real pain of living is the very real hope. And not just the band-aid, sympathy-card, pat-on-the-back kind of antidote. It's the ultimate end-to-all-tears, eternally-lasting kind of hope. I wish that I could remember it when I pore over the numbers of my budget and wonder how it's all going to come out, or when I cry and wait for a prayer to be answered. And for those in my life who live without the hope I know, I wish it'd resonate. Freedom for the captives, life for the walking-dead.

 * Note: Much of this thought has been stirred by my reading of Death By Living, by N.D. Wilson and by listening to this sermon about The Weight of Glory.