Longing for home.

I'm homesick. Very homesick. I've been away from home for over a month now, and I'm just ready to get home.
Papa and I were discussing my homesickness during devotions this morning, and he said something I thought was interesting. It went something like this, "Your homesickness is a picture of how all Christians should feel for heaven." Just as I can't wait to get home to see my family, so all Christians should be homesick for heaven, longing to see Christ. We were not created for this world of sin. Romans 8 tells us that all creation groans under the bondage of sin, and Christians groan inwardly for the redemption of our bodies.

(Rom 8:22) For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.
(Rom 8:23) And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.

I long for heaven. Nothing on this earth, not even my home, can satisfy me, but when in heaven, I will be completely satisfied. I will be free from this body of sin. I will stand before my Savior, sanctified.
Are you homesick for heaven? I am.

And all creation groans, travails in pain.
The cosmos cries to be redeem'd from bondage.
It grinds, it groans beneath our sin's domain.
But Christ alone this woe sure will assuage.
I wail, I weep. I'm made for something more.
I'm saved, but not yet glorified, I long
For home. "Redeem, Oh God," I beg, implore,
"Redeem me from this earth; I don't belong."
I don't know what to pray to Heaven's throne,
But this is why God gave His Spirit who prays,
Who intercedes, with prayers, with cries, with groans
I can't begin to understand. I'm amaz'd.
And now, I hope in what I cannot see;
My Lord will glorify. He hears my plea.

My Blueberry Smoothie with Whipped Cream on Top.

Swinging lazily
on my back.
Blueberry smoothie
overhead,
whip'd cream
on the top.

Close my eyes and
sip the sky.
Blueberry smoothie
overhead,
whip'd cream
on the top.

Stir the sky and
out swims a swan.
Blueberry smoothie
overhead,
whip'd cream
on the top.

Taste the sky,
a fluffy feast.
Blueberry smoothie
overhead,
whip'd cream
on the top.

Painting

I write orange.

Great globs of green
glump off my pen.
I swish them round.

My purple paint
spills. My hair slips
in. My page turns purple.
I do too.

Red makes a river
through the purple.

A blue dot,
a black blob.
Yellow stripes flow
across the page.

I write orange.

Advice for staying home alone with a sister.

1. Don't watch scary movies.
2. If a scary movie must be watched, huddle up next to sister and cover face with blanket.
3. Always sleep with a pillow over head. This blocks out noise and hides you from monsters.
4. Keep sister nearby while sleeping to beat up bad guys, real or imaginary.
   
5. Keep a big book or something heavy nearby while sleeping to wake sister to beat up bad guys.
   
6. Eat lots of spinach. Force sister to eat lots of spinach so she can better beat up bad guys.
   
7. Eat lots of garlic and onions. The boogie man does not like bad breath. Don't let sister eat lots of garlic and onions. You don't like bad breath, either.
   
8. If you hear noises outside your window after dark, force sister to investigate.
9. Don't read murder mysteries.
10. If murder mysteries must be read, pile all bedroom furniture and sister in front of bedroom door and sleep in the closet.
11. Keep shoes near pillow for throwing at sister when bad guys need beating up or noises are heard outside.
    

Hope

They look and wonder at my rejoicing.

For them, death is final, something fearful.

But for her, to live was Christ, to die, gain.

Death had no vict'ry, the grave, no sting.

Her Savior died and was resurrected,

And those dead in Christ will soon rise again.

I sorrow not as one who has no hope.

The Valley of the Shadow

"The Lord is my Shepherd...." I could barely hear her voice as she tried to quote while Shannon read Psalm 23 to her. Her voice was weak, not at all the strong, firm, yet loving voice that filled my childhood.

"...I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down..." Her voice fell silent as she struggled to recall the passage she had quoted hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. Chemo had muddied her memory.

I looked at her face, that beautiful face. Her skin was more wrinkled than I remembered; it sagged a little around her eyes and mouth. Emaciated. That was the word for it. Her cheekbones jutted out a bit; her nose seemed bonier than it used to be. Her lips looked shriveled and pulled away from her teeth in a way I never remembered.

Old. Never had I thought this word would describe her, though she was in her mid-seventies. She was always busy, too busy to get old. But now, as cancer tore her body, old had overtaken her.

"He restoreth my soul...leadeth me...for His name's sake." The raspy words came and went as her mind toiled to remember. She lay flat on her back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Shannon sat beside her on a bench, Hannah sat on the other side of the bed, and I perched at the end of the bed.

She looked so thin, so gaunt. She lifted a hand to cover her eyes, trying to remember. That hand. It evokes many memories of my early school years. That hand held many a red pen, scribbling many a checkmark next to incorrect math problems, misspelled words, and atrocious grammar. I saw its index finger tracing my place in my first-grade reading book as I struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar words on the page. I saw the other fingers tracking the number of times I repeated a memory verse to learn it. My repetitions of the verse would not stop until all ten fingers were up. My mind moved from the classroom to the kitchen. The hand stirred a pot of ramen or macaroni and cheese with a wooden spoon for our school day lunch. On Sundays the hand seemed to be a magician. It and its owner flew around the kitchen checking the roast in the oven, stirring gravy, slicing up fruit, putting rolls in the oven, taking a pie out of the oven, setting the table. That hand was the image of activity. And now it lay helplessly over her eyes.

Suddenly she uncovered her eyes. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” Though broken by tears, her voice did not stop. She knew this verse. She was there, in the valley of the shadow. And though the darkness of the valley enveloped her, His rod and staff comforted her. Though fear threatened to overtake her, He gave her peace. Though pain overwhelmed her, His hand held her. The six decades of putting His Word in her heart had not returned void. His Word was her solace.

“Thou anointest my head with evil. No that’s not it. Thou anointest my head with evil. No, no, no. What is it, Shannon?”

“Oil, Nanny. Thou anointest my head with oil.”

“Oil. Oil...Thou anointest my head with evil...I can’t say it. I can’t remember!” She burst into tears as her frustrated mind went in circles around the verse.

“It’s ok, Nanny, it’s just the chemo that’s making your head this way. It will get better soon, I promise.” Shannon did her best to comfort, but the tears continued. This was the brilliant woman whose mind had not failed her the seventy-some years that she had lived. And now it could not remember.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” Her voice grew stronger as she quoted the last verse of the beloved Psalm. His goodness and mercy had followed her all the days of her life. Her mind grasped this verse, embraced it. She knew His goodness and mercy. She did not understand the reason for her present pain, but prior experience proved His goodness and mercy would not fail her.

“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” Her voice had hope. There was a light in her eyes, a peace on her face. This pain and suffering was not eternal. It would last but for a moment, and when it had run its course, eternal happiness awaited her. She clung to His promise. Not once had He failed her. He would never leave her nor forsake her. And one day, He would take her home to a place with no tears, no dying, no pain. Maybe her mind could not remember oft-quoted passages. Maybe it mixed up words. But this she knew, the Savior she had so long served would hold her in His arms until she arrived at home.

Glorified

Seated upon His throne, the Savior looks down

On a poor, weary, kneeling pilgrim.

His eyes are filled with love.

The King speaks softly.

“Well done.”