Legacy

My grandmother (on my dad's side) is in her final days. I have mixed emotions as I reflect on it.

On the one hand, I'm sad because it's my Grandma...my own flesh and blood. A quarter of me is her. Without her, there wouldn't be a me. It's sad to think that I won't see her again.

On the other hand, she's lived a long and full life. She's in pain, and she lost her husband (my grandfather) over a decade ago. To think that she'll be freed from pain and reunited with Grandpa, her husband of 49 years before his passing, is a beautiful thought.

But mostly, I think of the legacy she leaves behind. To be honest, I didn't see her all that often and wasn't that close with her. But the impact her life has made is obvious. She and Grandpa had 9 kids and over 30 grandchildren, along with some great grandchildren so far, and I'm sure more to come. I can't even remember the names of all my cousins. Never could, even as a kid when there were fewer and I saw them more often.

Among her kids and grandkids are pastors, people who've gone on missions trips, and others, like myself, who are devoted to serving God in whatever capacity he's called them to. She didn't just have a lot of descendants—she passed on her faith to them. And they've continued to pass it on. Her life, even as it fades away, will live on through all these people touching more and more lives with God's love. The butterfly effect.

I have this image of her standing before God in heaven with Grandpa, with pictures surrounding them of all these faith-filled lives left in their legacy. That's what brings tears to my eyes. To think of the difference one person (or two) can make to leave their mark on this earth.

Now, I'm still firm in my desire not to have children. But I still want to leave that kind of legacy. And I believe that I can, thanks to this wonderful place God has called me to work. As I edit curriculum to help children, youth, and adults grow in their relationship with Jesus, I'm touching lives, too. Not in as personal a way, but in the way God has called me to.

I hope that when I'm the one about to stand before God, there will be many images of lives he's changed through my work, of a legacy of faith I've left behind.

"I want to leave a legacy 

How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?

Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?

I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy."

- Nichole Nordeman

Heaven

Sometimes in 6th grade or so, I would sit at my window almost every night, watch the sun set or the stars sparkle, and dream of heaven. I thought a lot in those days about what it would be like to go to heaven. I was coming off the whole "Zebop" thing of 5th grade where I convinced myself I was an alien, which wasn't true...but the truth was that we are not made for this world. And there was a yearning in me to experience heaven.

I don't think about heaven quite as often these days, but when I do, it gives me chills. I literally get goosebumps when I sing a song that mentions something about heaven or being forever with God. It can be an old hymn, like "Amazing Grace," where the final verse says, "When we've been there 10,000 years, bright shining as the sun; we've no less days to sing God's praise than when we'd first begun." Gosh I get goosebumps just typing it. It can be a relatively more current song like Mercy Me's "I Can Only Imagine."

And the one that not only gives me goosebumps, but makes me cry every time I sing it, is "Sing to the King," when it gets to the part where it says, "For his returning we watch and we pray; we will be ready the dawn of that day; we'll join in singing with all the redeemed: Satan is vanquished and Jesus is is king!" Oh. My. Goodness. Emu bumps. I cry not with sorrow, but with such eager anticipation it comes out of my eyeballs.

Now I've heard the phrase "some people are so heavenly minded they're no earthly good." And I don't want to be like that. God has called me to this earth to use the gifts he's given me for his glory, for however long that may be. But to think of the glory of heaven. And not just dying and going there but heaven after the final victory. Heaven when Satan is vanquished and every knee bows before King Jesus. It just fills me with so much hope! What glory awaits! No more tears, no more sorrow. No more sins of others causing me pain; no more causing others pain with my own sin. Just singing praise to Jesus, basking in his presence like I've never felt it before.

Crying

I've been spending the week with my family, including my 1 and a half year old niece and my almost 4 year old nephew. There have many occasions when one of them began to cry over things like not getting to play with a certain toy, or having to eat another bite of carrot before they can have a chip, or some other silly little thing. And I keep thinking, "Oh, if only you knew how not big of a deal this is. I know you're upset now, but in five minutes it won't even matter. It will be a lost memory."

I've also had a lot of a reminders of Buttercup - she lived half of her life here - and tonight when my mom gave me a container for her ashes with buttercups on it, that was the last straw for my emotions. But as I sat in my bed crying, I thought about God's perspective. I thought, I bet he's looking down at me, with his perspective of heaven and an eternity void of pain and tears, and thinking, "I know you're upset now, but soon it won't even matter."

One day all of our tears will be done. All of our pain will be gone. Not just new causes for pain, but the ones we're feeling right now won't even be a memory.

Politics

I hear people worry and argue a lot. About the economy, about political views, about all the things the government is doing wrong. About the environment, about abortion, about the degredation of America. About war, about international relations, about the starving children in Africa. About the hidden bacteria in our grocery bags and the cancer-inducing water bottles we drink from.

And for a moment, sometimes I worry, too.

But I always come back to the same thing. We live in a broken city, in a broken state, in a broken country, in a broken world. In this world there will never stop being wars, corrupt politicians, bad policies, and economical concerns. America may collapse, and as hard as it would be to live through that, I think...this is not my home. That's what I always come back to. This is not my home.

This country, this earth, it's so temporary, so broken. It hurts to live through the brokenness, especially when it touches those you love. It hurts to see my cousin deal with the loss of a leg as he sits in a hospital in Germany in critical condition, all because of war.  I can't imagine losing a limb. Aside from the excruciating physical pain, the emotional pain he must be feeling is overwhelming. The wondering about how his life will be different. The memories of what he's lived through. I can't even imagine it. I stub my toe and I turn into a big baby. Losing a limb? I can't fathom it.

But even as I read the updates on his health and pray for him, I hold on to that same thought: this is not his home. It is not my home. We are passing through. We live the best way we know how, to bring God glory, in the midst of a broken world, knowing that all the while, God is really the one in control.

Sometimes that's so hard to believe. But I trust him, I know that he knows so much better than me, and I know that no matter what happens with our government and our world, one day it will all be over. Josh will be restored to a better body than the one that just lost a leg. And I know where I'll be. My hope is not in this world, so I don't worry about all the things I can't change about our country. I do what I can to impact lives for God, and I'm trying to leave the control up to him.