Coming Again

When I was little, I remember really loving the idea of Heaven, but wasn’t so sure about Jesus coming.  All the pictures of Heaven were beautiful—lots of flowers, animals, fruit, angels, Jesus, family, sparkling gold, and light.  All the pictures of Jesus coming were kind of scary—black clouds with cities smoking in the background, and the whole earth looks pretty much trashed, and everyone looks really afraid, except for a few with their hands raised toward the big white clouds with lots of flashing angels, and Jesus—with a knife!  Or a sickle. (It took me awhile to understand the part about how it was supposed to be like a harvest). Even as I’ve grown, it’s easier to imagine heaven, and to avoid imagining the terror of the last days.

But tonight I was listening to a presentation about Heaven and Jesus coming, the first resurrection and the second resurrection, and there is a feeling in that story somewhere that I can really identify with now.  It really hits me somewhere deep.  It’s when I start thinking about a few weeks from now when I go home.  I haven’t thought a lot about home actually, during my time here.  Every now and then I’ll miss it, but I just don’t dwell on it because I know I have to be here.  But it’s been a hard year.  And when I think about stepping off that plane one last time with my scarred foot, looking into the faces of my family, and knowing that we don’t have to be so far apart again (at least as long as I’m poor and have a weak foot), and knowing I finally made it…it’s kind of a big deal.  It’s coming home.  As much as I will miss what I am leaving behind here in Yap, it will be so good to be home to rest, to eat from Mom’s garden, and to listen to Dad’s stories, and laugh at my brother and sister-in-law (in a good way).  And to know that I am safe and that I belong.

So when I think about Jesus coming, I think it will be a little bit like that, only a lot better.  It’s knowing that everything is over, that we made it, and we can rest.  It’s knowing that Someone has come to take us to where we will know we belong, and will feel it more deeply than any place in this world we’ve ever belonged to.  It’s that sigh, those tears of relief, the weight lifting off our shoulders and disappearing…forever.  It’s being with Jesus—physically—who can look me in the eye and say, “Well done,” and make me feel like He is really proud of me and really does love me, even though I don’t feel like I deserve it.  And nothing can ever steal that joy away.

So I say, bring it on, scary pictures. It’s worth it.