Tonight I sit amid the almost cool, although still quite humid, Georgia air at the intersection of Milledge and Lumpkin completely unable to concentrate on my task at hand, epidemiology. At the beginning of the semester it was my favorite class, but now my mind is so filled with other things that I just can't concentrate. The Asian man who is frequently up here has just finished a soothing round of classical guitar and every few minutes some undergrad pulls by blaring an all-too-loud country or rock or emo song. Brian sits, hooked up to his ipod, reading Constitutional law. The sound of espresso makers pounding out the grounds is barely muffled through the wall. Ah, another evening at Jittery's.
Our grandmother is really not doing well and so I've been thinking a lot about Home. Not our apartment or even the house out in Watkinsville, but Home. Heaven. I have no idea what it will be like. Paul uses the illustration of this life being spent in tents to compare it to the heavenly dwellings not built by human hands in 2 Corinthians 5. He says that as much as we long to live in these heavenly buildings, we still don't want to be uncovered of our earthly tents. Frances Reinhardt (my grandmother) will know Home soon. She will know peace soon. And I can't wish her to stay here in our tent village because both she and I know that this is the truth. She will dance with Fred again soon. There will be no more pain, no more new diseases, no more assisted living homes. Just the light of Jesus' face.
"And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on, I'll sing on..."
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2 comments:
Beautiful. Thank you.
"I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known."
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