Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a feast of the Jews. Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?”

“Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.” Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked.  John 5:1-9

I have several beloved friends who have been stuck a long time. One struggles under the power and shame of addiction. A couple of others wrestle in the vice-like grip of depression; one caused by a devastating heartbreak, the other from chronic health problems. Yet another is trapped by crippling loneliness and insecurity. They are all surrounded by people who love them and pray for them regularly, and that seems to just barely keep their heads above water. But at any given moment, I feel like they could slip under into the darkness. The worst part is, they seem to be resigned to and even okay with that possibility. But I, as their friend, am not.

It’s a helpless feeling, loving someone who is stuck. Often I feel like I should be able to love them to wholeness, a misconception that has proven disastrous a number of times. Through the years, I have learned to release them into the hands of the only One who can, and I continue to love and pray hard for these precious lives.

The other day I stumbled upon the story of Christ’s healing at Bethesda. A man who had been paralyzed for thirty-eight years lie among the wounded, waiting for someone to come along and help him into the pool at the right time, though maybe not really expecting it. And Someone did come along. With a very strange question:

Do you want to get well?

Um, Jesus, that sounds pretty obvious. I mean, the guy has been disabled for thirty-eight years. Seems like a no-brainer to me. Why don’t You just commence with the healing already? And the only thing stranger than the question is the answer. Instead of an emphatic and rejoicing YES!, the hopeless soul offers only an excuse:

This is why I’m not well yet. This is what I’m waiting for. This is why I can’t be healed.

Granted, maybe he didn’t know who he was talking to. Thankfully, Jesus in His relentless mercy, heals him anyway. And perhaps it was only then that the man knew he was dealing with the King of Creation, the long-awaited Messiah.

But we know Jesus. We know who He is. We know what He has done. While I’ve done significant work through depression and other issues, I find myself still carrying around a few seemingly harmless hang-ups that I know are keeping me from abundant life. Any stronghold Satan can hold onto in the life of a believer will ultimately lead to our ineffectiveness as a witness for Christ and a worker in His kingdom. And what joy the enemy must get from robbing the King’s children of their God-given right to freedom. Especially if he can convince us that there are just too many obstacles between us and that freedom, too much work that must be done. His evil, soothing voice whispers, Life is so hard for you. It takes so much just get out of bed in the morning. Why waste what precious little energy you have on pursuing healing that may not even work? It’s not so bad. You can live like this. And just between you and me, you probably don’t deserve anymore than this anyway, you know? So let’s just settle in to life like this.

And we buy it. If we reach out for help, no one will be there. Jesus won’t catch us. And that will just cause more shame, embarrassment and disappointment.

No, no, no. Our precious Savior is standing a breath away, looking right into our broken hearts offering us the life we were created for. But first He makes us face our fear. Do you want to get well? If you do, I’m right here. I will walk with you through it. We will overcome this together. But first, you must choose Me. You must choose life. You must say yes.

Don’t offer excuses. Don’t tell Him why you’re not well yet. Don’t tell Him it’s not possible. Believe Him for who He is. Believe Him for His promises to His children.

I had my own Bethesda moment several years ago at one of the lowest points of my existence. My heart was destroyed and I threw myself into the fight of my life, for my life. I had been fighting a long time and my shattered heart was growing weary. And right when I run out of steam, about to resign to brokenness, God showed up. Clear as can be He began to run through His holy resume with me. This is who I AM. This is what I’ve done. This is what I’ve given you. This is how you’ve squandered it. This is what I want for you. And this is what I want from you. And then His mighty voice softened and He whispered into my heart tender words that I will never forget:

Do you think I can’t still make a masterpiece out of your sad little life?

And whenever that hopeless overwhelming feeling begins to rear its ugly head, those words ring through my spirit. My destiny is spoken for. All I have to do is choose it.

“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!” Matthew 7:9-11

I was up in Ponte Vedra Beach for my little sister’s birthday one October. I didn’t have my daughter that weekend and, though I missed her, I was honestly looking forward to some ‘grown-up’ time. Sleep in, wander out to the beach without being on full-mommy-alert, actually finish a conversation with my family, etc.

I snuggled into the comfy king-sized bed that Friday night and relished the thought of not waking up to an alarm and wandering out at some later hour for my Dad’s amazing homemade breakfast. That was the plan anyway.

My eyes popped open in the dark and I looked at my watch. Just after 6 AM. Seriously? But for some reason, rolling over and going back to sleep was not an option. I was wide awake, feeling a strange but familiar draw to get moving. So I got dressed and slipped out the back door to the beach.

It was barely light enough to see and the beach was completely deserted. I kicked off my shoes and headed straight for the water, expecting the cold shock across my toes. Instead my feet were surprised with a warm kiss from the surf. Oooh, this is swimming water, I thought to myself. Fighting the urge to just jump in, I turned right, probably subconsciously heading toward my only company, a couple of sandpipers looking for breakfast. But my presence irritated them, so I giggled and turned an about-face up the beach, and turned my heart toward God.

Good morning, my King, my heart offered expectantly.
Good morning, My child, came the warm response.

I strolled along with a contented smile, basking in the presence of my Father, knowing full well this is why I was awake so early. I drug my feet through the warm water and began to silently sing How Great Thou Art in my mind. Then I looked out to the horizon.

Hey, how about some dolphins or a whale or something?
My King smiled and whispered to my spirit, Or how about just Me?
I smiled in correction. Of course, Father. You are more than enough.

My internal praise turned to More Than Enough and I continued to walk and worship. It was getting lighter, but the sky was overcast. I assumed the sun was tucked away behind a cloud. I couldn’t get over the warmth of the water and finally just couldn’t take it anymore. I turned around and jogged back to the condo and quickly changed into my bathing suit.

I knocked softly on my parents’ bedroom door and cracked it open.

“Dad, get up,” I whispered. “Let’s go swimmin’.”
A startled “Huh?” came out of the darkness.
“Is everything okay?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Dad, the water’s warm. We gotta go swimmin’.”
“What?”
“Swimming, Dan. Lindsey wants to go swimming.”
“What time is it?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s almost seven, Dad. Come on. Let’s go.”
“You wanna go swimming at seven in the morning?”
“YES! Come on, Dad. Let’s GO.”

A few minutes later, Dad appeared in his bathing suit. My typically early-riser father grumbled something about needing coffee and I waited impatiently as he poured some into a plastic cup. And then I grinned.

“You know, Dad. I’m just standing here remembering how many times over the last thirty years YOU have woken ME up before sunrise to go hunting, fishing, horseback riding, or some other random adventure. I just wanna go swimmin’.”

He sipped his coffee and chuckled, “All right, let’s go.”

I dropped our towels, slipped off my watch and walked into the water, diving under just past the breakers. Dad followed with his red Dixie cup of coffee and we began to ‘bob’ and chat. We talked about Caroline, work, family. I looked out at the horizon. “Dad, look.”

The fiery orange sun was peeking out of the water and illuminating the surrounding clouds. We marveled at the sunrise, and the fact that we were already up to see it. The edges of the clouds glowed neon orange and we watched it rise higher and higher until it was out of the water and moving up above the clouds. I kicked my feet up and floated for a minute, knowing that I would never forget this moment as long as I lived.

My Fathers didn’t care that I didn’t have my makeup on, that I hadn’t shaved in 24 hours, that I had the figure of a thirty year old and not a twenty year old. My Fathers were happy to be with me. Just me. I didn’t have anything to offer but myself, and that was enough for Them.

We bobbed and chatted until the sun was high in the sky. My mother and grandmother appeared on the beach, so Dad and I hiked back in and toweled off. What an incredible start to the day.

Later that morning we were sitting on the porch facing the ocean eating breakfast. As we stood up to head to the kitchen with our dishes, a dark flash caught my eye and I turned toward the beach just in time to see a huge dolphin leap straight out of the water and crash back into the waves. I grabbed my sister’s arm and told everyone to look. A group of about twenty or thirty dolphins was milling around in the water in front of the condo, obviously interested in the bait fish near the shore. We watched fin after fin come in and out of the water, a few splashes, but no more leaps. I smiled to myself and looked up.

That was just for you, My child. That was just for you.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” John 14:1-4

I recently stumbled upon an old writing:

I’m homesick.

When I was little, I got homesick often. Camp, visits to grandparents, even sleepovers just didn’t do it for me. I wanted to be home. I think my parents started to worry at the beginning of my senior year of high school. They weren’t sure if I’d ever leave. My favorite place to be was on my bed in my room in my house on my street in my hometown.

There were a few Sunday afternoons in college when I was facing a pile of put-off homework and struggling against the sleep I didn’t get that weekend when I just wanted to be home. The thought of home fiercely motivated me to study for finals because I knew I’d soon be back where I belonged. Home quickly became idealized as I began a life of my own and I was thrilled when God finally led me back to Ocala. Home.

But lately, nothing has satisfied me. As perfect as my life is, something’s missing. Something’s a little awkward. Something’s just not a perfect fit. There’s catch in my breath, a weight on my heart that I just can’t shake.

I’m homesick. Homesick for a Place I’ve never been, longing for the arms of a Man I’ve never seen.

The more time God and I spend together, the more I ache for Him. Not just His whispers in my ear, not just His Spirit in my soul, not just His daily miracles or gentle nudgings. I want my King, high and lifted up, in full glory and splendor. I want to dive into His arms and never let go, gaze into His face and never look away, just be where He is and never have to leave.

Sometimes when the world has broken my heart again, I’ll shake my head and impatiently sigh, “Lord, just take me Home. Please, Lord, take me Home. I want to be where You are. This world has nothing for me. I belong with You and nothing else will satisfy me. Please, Jesus, take me Home.” But I know the answer all too well.

I can almost feel the mighty hand that carved mountains, shaped valleys and set the earth in motion, gently smoothing my tousled hair. And a loving but firm Voice says with a wistful smile, “Oh, My child, I long for you too. And someday soon we will be together forever. But not yet. There is still much for you to do before I can bring you Home. Be patient and trust Me. Not yet. Not yet.”

In those moments I take a deep breath, force myself to shake off the sadness and refocus my attention on my mission. After all, there’s a reason I’m still here.

So until that wonderful day, I will battle the world, physical limitations, and temptation, while trying to complete the task assigned to me before time began. Just a few more tests to study for. And I want to ace them, so my Father will be proud.

When I get Home.

I smile at the innocence of my voice from six years ago. The world was a very different place indeed. Idyllic in many ways. And yet with the ridiculously blessed life I was enjoying, all I wanted was to go Home.

And now six years later, I stare at those words with older eyes and a scarred but beating heart and feel that familiar sting with a fresh and desperate hunger. For now, all those things that were considered home are gone. Every person, place and circumstance that embodied the idea of home for me have since retired from their posts. And for a time, I lived in a state of perpetual homesickness and loss of those homes that were gone forever.

But gradually, day by day, sometimes minute by minute, God began to sow seeds of explosive growth in my open wounds. And now, on my better days, there is an unnerving freedom in looking around and knowing that home is nowhere to be found. Not here. I am a stranger in this land, far from home, and with a definite purpose.

So in a few short but eventful years, I went from a number of homes that weren’t enough, to none at all. But my God is faithful. My God is good. My God is mighty, powerful and wild. My God is mine. And I am His, in every last cell of my being. The Holy Spirit remains my heavenly homing device. And while the process was excruiciating, I praise Him for using the hard knocks of life to systematically eliminate every other security blanket, and that all I have to hold onto is Him.

So I come to the same conclusion I did six years ago. I resolve to keep my head down on the task at hand, and my heart stubbornly lifted up toward Home. Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him.” 1 Corinthians 2:9

A few months ago my parents got a new TV. They jumped into the world of high definition television with great gusto and enthusiasm. After an extensive set-up time and a number of calls to tech support, they finally got the hang of it.

I find the whole set up overwhelming. There are new remotes, new routines to learn. It’s all pretty stressful to fumble through, especially when you have a two year old shrieking that she wants Elmo. I don’t have HD TV at my house, but I have to admit I was very impressed with the bright, crisp new images on their screen.

A couple weeks after The Great Installment, my sister Alison came down. Ali has HD TV and just has a general knack for reading directions and figuring things out (a gift my father and I do NOT possess). We were all at my folks’ house for dinner and they were experiencing some technical difficulties so we turned Ali loose on the project.

After a few moments, Ali’s voice called down the hall: “You guys don’t even have it on the HD channels!” Mom, Dad and I looked at each other, confused. We walked into the family room, Ali rolled her eyes in disgust and pointed at the TV.

Do you remember what it was like the first time you saw an HD TV? Yeah, it was like that. The colors, the sharpness, the brightness. Heck, it was almost three dimensional. The picture was so perfect, it nearly hurt my eyes.

After I got over my initial amazement, I just laughed at us. We were so impressed by the newness of the TV, the miniscule improvement of the picture on the REGULAR channels, we thought that was IT. Big new screen, pretty new picture. We were satisfied. We didn’t know there was so much more to it. And when we finally DID see what it was capable of, we were speechless.

I think it’s that way with the Christian life as well. At the beginning of the journey, you’re just so grateful to be forgiven. There is a new hope in your life, a new joy. And I think a lot of us are tempted to stop there. Or we go to church, participate in Bible studies, learn, grow, but the relationship isn’t what it was meant to be.

Honestly, I don’t know what it was meant to be. But I’ve had glimpses, tastes of the Spirit-filled life. And it just took my breath away. And with that experience, it never ceases to amaze me how quickly I can become satisfied with so much less: Grudging church attendance, obligatory prayer time, forced Bible reading. God has intended so much more, so much life, so much power that most of us never tap into. And if we do, we rarely stay there.

O my King, may I never be satisfied. Not as long as I am in this world. May I always thirst for more of You, until the day I am in Your presence forever.

“When those who were carrying the ark of the LORD had taken six steps, he sacrificed a bull and a fattened calf. David, wearing a linen ephod, danced before the LORD with all his might, while he and the entire house of Israel brought up the ark of the LORD with shouts and the sound of trumpets.” 2 Samuel 6:13-15

I spent last weekend in Jacksonville with my big sister, Alison. She’s got a cool little dog, a cute apartment and a fun boyfriend, Johnny. The three of us spent all of Saturday night and a large part of Sunday playing Rock Band. And Louis was our biggest fan.
            For those of you who haven’t played Rock Band on Wii, it’s a blast. There is a microphone, a guitar and drums for the players to choose from. There are tours, city T-shirts, characters, wardrobes, tattoos, and GREAT music. Johnny even brought over a mike stand. And once you’re in the game, you really start to feel like a rock star.
            Ali and Johnny have played a LOT more than I have. They know all the songs and are pretty competitive. Johnny does a terrifyingly accurate Michael Stipe impression. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ali have as much fun as when she’s the lead singer. My type-A stockbroker sister gets a microphone in her hands and her booty starts shaking, her head starts bobbing, and she just sings her little heart out. It’s awesome.
            As a rookie rocker, I was a little more hesitant. I would only sing the songs I knew, for fear of embarrassing myself and/or letting down my fellow bandmates. But once we got to a song I was familiar with, I really started getting into it. After a few minutes, my booty was shaking, my foot was stomping, and the mike stand became my dance partner. We laughed at ourselves and I pointed at my heart saying, “We’ve all got an inner rock star in there, just waiting to come out.”
            I was pondering that once I got home, about how such typically reserved people can let loose in a sports setting, or when given a microphone. I think the truth is, we’re all looking for a reason to go nuts. We all want permission to relax and be real, and pour our whole selves into something. We’ve all got inner worshippers in there, just waiting to come out.
            King David was probably one of, if not THE greatest worshipper in history of our faith. He was a royal mess, just like us, with bigger screw ups than most of us will ever commit. He knew great victory and great defeat. He knew true fellowship with God, and he knew hiding and distance. He experienced every great high and devastating low this life has to offer, and when it all came down, he was a passionate, unashamed, and unapologetic worshipper of his God.
            He developed quite an “undignified” reputation when the ark of the Lord was finally brought home to Jerusalem. He led the parade, half-dressed and lost in love with his God. I’m sure that made a lot of people uncomfortable. And his wife, Michal, did not hide her disapproval and embarrassment, and essentially scolded the king for his unruly behavior. But King David would have none of it. “It was before the Lord, who chose me rather than your father or anyone from his house when He appointed me ruler over the Lord’s people Israel—I will celebrate before the Lord. I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes.” Basically, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, girlfriend!
            I am so jealous of that fearless passion. I have a lot of David’s emotional and demonstrative qualities, but not his courage. My desire to worship freely is often squelched by what people will think. I would love to worship in church the way I worship in the car. I would never want to be a distraction or draw attention to myself, but I also don’t want hold any part of me back from my King. He doesn’t care if I hit all the right notes, He won’t boo me like the demanding fans on Rock Band. He wants my heart. Period. And if He has that, He will take great joy in my worship. And after what He’s done and continues to do for me, I want to make Him smile every chance I get.

^“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” 2 Corinthians 4:8-9

I recently went on a road trip to Kentucky with one of my best friends. We were both without our kids for the weekend and decided to head north to visit her folks and look at something else for a few days. And we had a blast. It was cold and cloudy, but that didn’t stop us from fishing, hiking and exploring.

The area was still recovering from a devastating ice storm that hit several weeks ago. There were tree branches down everywhere we looked. The storm had come through and layered the trees with ice until the weight became too heavy to bear. And the limbs just snapped. People said it sounded like constant gunfire for a of couple days as tree after tree succumbed to the ice.

Heather and I were hiking through the woods of Princeton, Kentucky, marveling at the wild daffodils and trying to keep her parents’ dog out of the mud, when we came upon a striking sight. The forest floor was littered with the debris of the storm, but in the middle of all the gray was a shock of green.

Some small breed of fir tree had been bent at such an extreme angle that it looked like a beautiful dark green archway against the backdrop of gray. The storm had so beaten this tree that, just for sheer gravity’s sake, it should have been on the ground. But there it stood (if you could call it that), bent as could be, but still green, still growing. Still alive.

I smiled and snapped a picture as a reminder to myself. God allows wretched storms in our lives. We don’t know why. I like to hope that someday we’ll get all the answers, but maybe we won’t. Jesus promised that all that happened to His followers would be used for good, but that promise is hard to live when surrounded on all sides by such brokenness.

But so should I be: A shock of life in the midst of death. As Christians, we don’t have all the answers. Some people feel like we should. Sometimes I feel like we should. But our God is too amazing, too wild, too huge, too wonderful to let us figure Him out. So while I can’t offer answers in the storms, I can offer life.

I have a hope and a future and a God who loves me enough to do the unthinkable to redeem me. So while others are snapped by the ice of tragedy and tribulation, while the dead faith of others litters my feet, so I should stand, bent and beaten, but still alive.

After all, He came that we would have life, and have it more abundantly.

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5

I just got a new laptop. Again, for someone who’s not big on change, this was a big step for me. Had to get a couple of my techie buddies to get all my programs set up, my documents moved over, all the connections restored, and don’t even get me started on Windows Vista. Wow.
            My old one had aged pretty gracefully and had served me well. But the main problem I was having with it was the connection. Something was loose on the back so when I plugged in the power cord, it didn’t connect. It looked connected, but the little icon on the bottom of the screen didn’t light up, which means no power was getting in and the battery wasn’t getting charged.
            I tried everything. I’d prop it up with my stapler at work, balled my comforter up underneath it when I was in my bed at home. Toward the end, I just had to hold the cord in with my right hand and try to type one-handed with my left hand. That would buy me a few minutes of charged battery so I could type with two hands.
            I finally gave up. That computer was pretty useless with that loose connection. Computers can’t function without power. And there’s no power if there’s no connection.
            I often wish God had created me that way. When my connection with Him gets loose, I sometimes don’t even notice. Oops, never picked up the Bible yesterday, did I? Hmm, probably should have involved God in that decision. You know, the Holy Spirit could have really helped in that conversation. Just keep plodding along through life. Not doing anything too terribly wrong, but certainly not doing anything too terribly right either. My battery starts to drain as my effectiveness for Christ slowly fades. And I just keep going.
            But no, God created us with a choice. The ability to choose Him. After all, how much glory could He possibly receive if we were wired to choose only Him and nothing else? I’ve tried to explain to Him that in my case, free will is not doing Him any favors. I’m just embarrassing Him. He should just take away my options, and make me a robot who is only capable of serving Him, and is forced to reconnect to keep functioning.
            I must choose to stay connected. I must seek Him every day. I must stay charged. He told us clearly that a branch not connected to the Vine will wither and die. And apart from Him I can do nothing.
            I can go to work. I can spend time with my daughter. I can host Bible study. I can serve at church. I can really appear connected. But apart from Him, I can do nothing. Nothing of eternal significance. And how many days have I wasted, how much power have I lost because of a loose connection?
            Lord, teach me to stay connected. Every day, may I recharge by spending time with You and in Your word. Keep Your power flowing through me so You can make a masterpiece out of my brief existence, until the day when You and I are connected forever.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me. In My Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am.” John 14:1-3

 

            I recently moved into a new house. There was a period in my life several years ago when I was moving fairly often, so I got pretty good at it. But that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. I’m a nester by nature; a comfort-zone junkie. Other more adventurous souls would be thrilled at the idea of packing up all their worldly possessions and relocating to a brand new place. But not me. I like to be where I am, stay where I’ve been, settle in, put up my feet, put down my roots, and stay put.

Thankfully in this most recent case, I was anxious for a change. So after spending several weeks packing, the day of the big move arrived. And after the dust settled that afternoon, my family and I stood in the kitchen of my adorable new house, barely able to see each other over all the boxes. In all of our eyes was the same question: Where to start?

But I knew: Caroline’s room.

My then nearly two-year-old daughter Caroline was at preschool the day of the move. She had never known any house but the old house, and her first impression of the new house needed to be perfect. I wanted to have her room completely and totally set up before she came home. I checked my watch. We had two hours.

My mother, sister and I began frantically tearing into boxes and suitcases. The furniture was in place, but the bed needed sheets on it, the drawers needed clothes in them, and the chair needed to be draped with her favorite blankie. I wanted the basket of toys set out just so, the books on her bookshelf, and pictures on the wall. The idea was to make the room look like home, and that the only thing missing was her.

As I was hanging the letters of her name on the wall above her bed, I smiled at my mom and said, “This must be what God feels like.”

I don’t know what heaven looks like. But I do know it is so beyond my imagination, I usually don’t even try to picture it. I just know in my heart that it is infinitely more beautiful, more wonderful and yet will feel more like home than anyplace I’ve ever experienced. And I long for it.

Jesus told the guys that He was going to get their rooms ready. That verse has been translated in a number of ways, but the idea remains: There will be a place for each of us in heaven, and Jesus Himself is preparing it. Takes my breath away.

As my heart swelled with love for my daughter as I fussed frantically around the room, so much more does my Lord’s heart swell with love for me as He flawlessly arranges my space for eternity. As I barked impatient orders at my mom and sister, my King whispers excitedly to the nearest angel, “Won’t she just love this?”

The two hours flew by. I picked up a piece of sidewalk chalk and wrote, “Welcome home, Caroline” on her little chalkboard, then stood up to survey the finished product. No boxes in sight, only all her favorite things, just where they belonged. And I was satisfied.

I wiped my sweaty face on my sleeve, closed the door to my bedroom where we stashed the rest of the mess, and left to go pick up my girl. The rest of the house was a disaster, but I didn’t care. Her room was ready. And as exhausted as I was, my heart pounded with excitement. I couldn’t wait to show her her new room.

I picture Jesus minding the time of my arrival, and putting the finishing touches on my place. But you know? I imagine anyplace He is will feel totally and perfectly like home to me. And as desperately as I want to hear the “Well done, good and faithful servant” speech, there are two other words my heart yearns for:

“Welcome home, My child. Welcome home.”