I find that words are often woefully inadequate to capture our deepest emotions; In these moments I've found music or art to be much better mediums of the mystery that is within us.
Above my dining room table hangs a painting. It's cheap art, and it looks tired, but as I sat at my table yesterday I felt like it expressed my musings as of late, far better than language could.
It's a picture of a home, surrounded by a garden. It looks far too idyllic to be real; the landscape is flawless, the home, a stucco-tuscan design seems untouched yet...welcoming; and the lot of it is more like a house you would see at the end of a movie than one you would pass on the way to work.
It's like the house I've always wanted to come home to, not at the end of a long day; but rather at the end of a long life.
It's perfection spoke to me about a better age, an age to come; it reminded me of the "better country" that the Patriarchs who were "not at home in this life" were longing for (Heb.11).
So many things that I have been going through as of late, like that painting, have been reminding me of that age. The death of my grandmother, and the death of my friend Michelle, the impending birth of my daughter, the aching exhaustion from working long hours; these have all served to remind me of a better world.
A world where death itself is defeated and no more, a time when the One "through whom all things were made", will "make all things new". A time when the eternal longings which He has "set in the hearts of men" will be fulfilled.
Oh how my deepest longings will come to fruition in that age! What a joy it will be to see my little sister, and my father, and my grandmothers; and what an honor it will be to say like John the Beloved, that we have "seen his glory, the glory of the only begotten Son"!
And finally, after my long day of toil in this life...whether by eastern sky, or by grave should He tarry...I will go home.