“Are we there yet?” * “I’m tired.” * “I’m hungry!” * “I need to go to the bathroom!!”
When I was young, my family took many cross-country trips from Alabama to Arizona and back again.
My dad would hand me the map and a small calculator (one of the first-with only a few buttons and no fancy functions!) and tell me to add up the miles to our next stopping place. It required focused concentration and careful calculation, but I was rewarded with an accurate assessment of where we were and how much farther we had to go. Then I could count the mile-markers and measure our progress.
I had a sense of where I was going and how much longer it would take to get there.
I don’t want to be the whiny kid in the backseat, but my grief journey has me crying daily, “Am I there yet?!”
I am confident of where I am going but there’s
no mile markers and
no real way to measure my progress.
I can’t calculate how long I have to wait to see my son again and I can’t foresee what twists and turns this road may take. I grow tired and impatient and uncomfortable.
I know each day brings me closer to the moment when my family will be reunited and whole. Sunrise to sunrise is twenty-four hours less that I have to wait until eternity swallows my pain and longing. Every revolution of the earth moves me toward the finish line of victory over death.
God has not ordained that I know when this journey will end, so I concentrate my focus on truth and lean into the promises of Scripture:
Now faith is confidence in what we hope for
and assurance about what we do not see.
This is what the ancients were commended for.
Hebrews 11:1 NIV
Steven Curtis Chapman sings a song: We Are Not Home Yet.
It helps me remember that my life is a journey, not a destination.
My true home is heaven and there all things will be redeemed and restored.