Home and hope and better things

I spent twenty-five years living in New York, and never really feeling at home.  I used to think this was because I was in New York, and not Minnesota.  Now, I suspect there is a time in your life when you start to seek your identity and your place, and if you undergo a major geographical move coincidentally with this internal crisis, you have an especially difficult time figuring out where you belong.  Even though I have reached an age when some people are thinking about retiring, I am not sure what to become when I grow up.

So I got myself a little part time job, and I kind of like it.  Compared to other jobs I have had, I think this is a good one, although I might not recognize this if I hadn't had some jobs that didn't work for me.  I hope I don't get fired, because I'm not very proficient yet (actually, not the least bit proficient).  But it is a nice job.  I don't have to carry a lot of supplies back and forth, or do work at home, and those are two very nice features of a job.

This morning I was driving to work (how odd it feels to say that).  I drove down one freeway and merged onto another.  While doing so, I checked the traffic behind me in my rear-view mirror (this is generally a good thing to do while merging).  Behind me, I first noticed that the road was clear.  Then I saw a mother goose leading her fuzzy goslings in a festive, waddling procession across the asphalt expanse of highway.  Then I saw a huge semi approach from behind, bearing down on the goose parade with its gargantuan, muscular cab.  I watched as the truck swerved slightly one direction and then the other.  Presumably, the driver was trying to figure out how to minimize the damage.  Another car sped into view on his left, filling the other half of the road which mercifully crested so I couldn't see what happened next.  I wrenched my eyes off the mirror and out the windshield, focusing on what was ahead rather than on what was behind, feeling sick and sad, trying to tell myself that there are too many geese anyway (and not quite able to believe it).

Sometimes I am just tired of this world and all the tragedy, disappointment and destruction it holds.  I am tired of cancer and car accidents, sexual predators and stock market crashes.  Tired of weeds and thieves and sleepless nights.  Tired of denied insurance claims, and lies, and wars, and waste.  Sometimes I just don't want any more of it.

You know what I'm really tired of?  I'm tired of worrying.

Of course, there is a cure for all of it:  God.

We have to have faith.  We have to put our faith in the ultimate victory of the Lord who created us.  We have to believe that there is a better world coming, and if we hang on, have faith, love Jesus, cling to the good, think about the pure and lovely, follow the narrow path, we will arrive in the Promised Land, the real one.  There will be an eternity of paradise.  There will.  There really, really will.

We just have to get through this life first, and somehow do it with grace and love, radiating God's beauty to the devastation around us.

We are broken, but He is fixing us, and when we get there, we will be flawless.

We are sinners, but He forgives us, and when we get there, we will be pure.

We are under attack, but He protects us, and when we get there, we will be safe.

We are miserable, but He comforts us, and when we get there, we will be filled with joy.

We are lost, but He seeks us, and when we get there, we will be home.