Of Change and Presence

I’m gazing out at my backyard. It is covered in green leaves that will soon be changing color for the fall. Everything here is new to me. This house. The yard. The furniture arrangement. The smells. The look. The colors. A cross-country move will have that effect. The terrain is different—more moisture here, more greenery, more Up North in feel. 

And here I sit, pondering what glory will be like. Will it all smell fresh and new? What will the new earth be like? How long I can ponder such questions! God hasn’t given us very much to know about the new earth. My guess is that we wouldn’t be much good for this earth if we knew more. Perhaps that’s why. 

But He has us here.

He hasn’t had us follow our little children yet. Oh, you hear of sudden death in adults. Or of disease, cancer, syndromes, and accidents that take lives. You and I both have names flashing before our eyes of those gone ahead. But we are here to taste the new tastes and smell the new smells of this earth. 

Maybe you’ve lived in the same place for many years. Maybe you haven’t had the upheaval of change. Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to move your life in boxes across many state lines.  But you do know of the change of life that comes with the sudden change of a person, a little person, no longer within you or within your arms. Perhaps you know the smell of baby things purchased that are no longer going to be in use. The look of a nursery that is no longer going to be occupied. Perhaps you know change since the time of your little one going to eternity. You know that upheaval of loss, the grief of loss.  

Your life has changed. And, I would say that undoubtedly you have had more questions or thoughts about heaven and the life to come. I have those too. And here, my new space has me thinking about my final move—the one to glory to be with my daughter and to finally see my God and have Him sweep me away forever. I have to be content with what God has given us, the times and seasons and the thoughts of glory to come. But there’s more. There’s presence. His.

Life changes. Loss occurs. We are thrust into grief. We continue to feel its pangs. But we are not alone. 

As I sit here and think about this move, I think that perhaps Jesus will come on the clouds to whisk us away soon. Do you dream of that like I do? But I also think about how He is present with me here and now. My daughter went to glory nine years ago. Nine years. And life continues to ebb and flow with the seasons and changes. 

I had another child. I have served in other roles. I have had other jobs. And through it all, the time and space between here and heaven is closing. 

I think about the old hymns I’ll hum within these walls; they are very glory-driven. But they also give us encouragement for here and now. They tell us that Jesus is with us. And friends, in the lowest of lows, that has to be enough for us. He is goodness. He is life. He is the sweetness of life. 

If Jesus is not enough for us, then we must be doing something wrong. Right—do you agree? We would have something missing in our thoughts. Perhaps that is also part of why we wait with unanswered questions about the life to come. Have you thought about that? Perhaps we wait because, through pain, loss, continued grief, new life changes, and times of upheaval that have us circling back around to thinking about glory over and over, perhaps He has us here for Him. I think so. There is glory for His name found in our rushing to Him through it all, and there is sweetness in our taste of Him to tell us that He is truly enough for us.

Perhaps He still has us here to reinforce within us that He is our most important relationship. He is the most important one we have. And if that is not a comfort, if He is not our comfort, during our days here, then what comfort do we have? If He is not enough in our hearts, then what could be? 

Oh friends, to be close with Jesus through all of life—that is life. Everything here swirls around us. The themes of grief continue, the themes of upheaval circle back into our lives in different ways that change like the leaves. We will continue to have changes that rub against us. But oh to remember that this life is glory too—in a way. It is the glory of God’s presence through the questions of our forward-gazing lives. 

Lianna is author of Made for a Different Land: Eternal Hope for Baby Loss (Hope Mommies, 2019). More of her writing can be found at her website.

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