We got to see our baby last night. Swallowing and hiccuping and squirming around on the ultrasound screen. It was pretty awesome.
Early this morning, as I sat at a table in Caribou Coffee with my ultrasound pictures in hand, waiting for my friends and comrades in prayer who had requested I bring the photos to our weekly meeting, I found myself with some free time on my hands. And rather than opening the internet browser as I often do, I decided to open a Bible app instead and begin my day with the Word of God, the refresher of my soul. Here is what showed up on my screen:
“Of old you laid the foundation of the earth,
and the heavens are the work of your hands.
They will perish, but you will remain;
they will all wear out like a garment.
You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away,
but you are the same, and your years have no end.
The children of your servants shall dwell secure;
their offspring shall be established before you.” -Psalm 102:25-28
As I read these words in the middle of the morning hustle and bustle, surrounded by coffee and pastries and shelves stocked with holiday merchandise, and all the winter gear people are now donning given that it’s November in Minnesota, God’s words whispered to me that none of this will last forever, and therefore it’s not worth chasing. And I know it’s true, although I can be lured in by it at times.
But what I didn’t expect was the last line, and the knowledge that flooded in and became more real to me than it ever has before. That the little person in those photographs I held, the little person I am actually holding inside, is eternal. That for all the things we can grasp at and grieve over even as they fade away, the things that really matter – people, and this child in particular – can live forever. I have a friend who lost her infant daughter recently, and she told me it has made her and her husband keenly aware of what is eternal and what really matters. I am beyond blessed to be holding something, someone, who is eternal. And to be eternal myself. And to get to participate in things that will last forever. What an awe-some thing that is. What a privilege. And what HOPE.
My prayer is that God would flood my awareness with this truth so that I might make better decisions about how I spend my time, my energy, my words, learning to do only that which matters. And that even as I enjoy and thank God for lovely things like the smell of coffee and the feel of a warm winter coat, I might open my hands and loosen my grasp on all that is temporal so that the only things that remain will be the things God has secured for me, and I will have nothing to fear losing.