And He who sat upon the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new" (Rev 21:5)
My opa lies on a bed in hospice, his breaths slow. Pregnant pauses between breaths bear the fullness of time. The fullness of a life lived well and complete, somehow not yet begun.
We wait for news, the break between breaths interminable.
The leaves are brittle and tremble in the wind, scooping light and dropping it into the breeze. They hold tremulous to life as winter approaches. The sun sets ever-lower.
Knowing the truth of heaven after death, or of spring after winter, doesn't always stop the dread in its coming.
And so we wait for death.
And for life.
Because in the fullness of time, He came. And in the fullness of time, He will come again.
Opa is a writer and a man of great faith. Years ago he wrote these words and I cling to their promise today: We must never be discouraged. Nothing is so bad that God cannot make it good. And nothing is so old that God cannot make it new.
So as I wait, taking heart in the faith of one drawing near to the end of a race well-run. One whose slow shuddering breaths are pregnant with the closeness of seeing Jesus. The one for whom we all wait is waiting for him, waiting with arms wide to make him new.
edited: I wrote this last night; this morning, opa's wait is over. For those of us here, we still wait, and so we are sad at our loss. But I am reminded in this season of advent that we will not wait forever, and so I sit in anticipation under the promise that he makes all things new.
Soon it will be revealed that God has given us a new name and a new country - the land of hope and glory.
Excerpts are from opa's book: Daylight (Andrew Kuyvenhoven)