Work in Heaven: A Fresh Perspective

I recently read the book “Seasons of Sorrow: The Pain of Loss and the Comfort of God” by Tim Challies. It is a series of short chapters written after the unexpected death of his college-aged son. Some of the chapters were familiar to me, as he described thoughts, questions, and answers I had also experienced in my own grief journey. Some of the chapters challenged me with new and helpful thoughts and ideas about love, longing, and walking with grief.

In one of the chapters he objects to the notion that because his son’s earthly life is over, there is so much he has not accomplished, saying: “It is not likely that such noble dreams and ambitions, such rare and precious traits, are even more at home in heaven than on earth? Is it not plausible that in the place of perfection, they have not been erased but rather increased, not diminished but multiplied? Is it not appropriate, then, that I should turn my lamentations into praise, my grief into hope, my sorrow into expectation, confident that Nick has gone where he can thrive, where he can flourish, where his every dream can be made good?”

I had never really thought about Oliver’s heavenly existence as a place of growth and productivity before. Oliver’s death brought me a longing for heaven and a better understanding of how great heaven must be, but I didn’t spend much time thinking about what he would be doing in heaven. Could it be not just a wonderful place, but also a place of fulfillment and productive work for the kingdom of God? Not just in a "watching over us" sense but in a "still working and growing and accomplishing" sense? I do not like to think about him just waiting or even just playing. He loved to work. There is so much I would have liked to see him do. Maybe when I join him someday he will have lots to say about the work he has been doing for our heavenly Father. May I be found at work for the kingdom too.

For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:10

Fruitful

I can’t stop thinking about these flowers and trees I have seen on my in-laws property in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan the last few years. You have to brave the tall grass, ticks, and mosquitoes to find them. They were planted probably forty to sixty or more years ago and have been untended for decades. Yet they grow wild now, blooming and bearing fruit with abandon.

I think about the people who planted them. They were likely hopeful Finnish homesteaders trying to make a living off of a cold and rocky land. Only a few of the structures they built on this property are still surviving, maybe the sign of a foundation or a well here or there. Their dreams of a permanent place to call their own and a farm to pass to their children and children’s children didn’t last here. And yet a legacy of sorts lives on in these flowers and apple trees, as well as in the house, barn, gardens, fields, and forest my in-laws have built over their years on the land.

It reminds me: dreams don’t have to come all the way to fulfillment for them to bear fruit. The wild and the untended are beautiful in their own way. There are surprises to be found in the wild overgrowth. God tends His garden. There is a legacy to our efforts that lives on after we move on. Nothing is perfect in this life. Dreams don’t always look like what we expect, but that doesn’t mean that beauty isn't the result.

Blessings

In late April, when I was writing about some of the ways God works in our sufferings, my husband was in Michigan looking for a place for us to move into this summer. The rental market for homes was crazy in the location we were preparing to move to and home sales were super competitive too. As our friends asked us about how our move was going, they would often say something along the lines of "well, I'll be praying that God leads you to just the right place that exceeds all your expectations" or "I'll be praying everything goes smoothly and easily and you find the perfect place". My husband and I would roll our eyes. That's not how things work! No one just rolls the red carpet out for you when you are looking for a rental, especially when you have a dog, and most especially when your dog weighs more than 20 pounds. We knew God had a place for us, yes, but we also knew that the search is often arduous and God uses these times of pending homelessness to grow our trust in Him as we WAIT and WAIT and WAIT. And submit applications minutes behind someone else. And get told they already have seven applications for a property. Or find out the property that looks great in the on-line photos actually smells of cat pee and contains the previous tenant's garbage everywhere etc etc etc.

Some final pictures from our time near Lake
Superior this summer.

But then God really surprised us, and this time my husband was able to visit our new location beforehand, look at a few OK rentals, and then get a lead from a cousin who lives in the area where we were looking. And the lead quickly turned into a more wonderful house than we could have imagined ending up in! It is everything we needed and wanted and hoped for, plus more. A real cherry on the top situation! 

I wrote a few lines about how it is true that we should expect sorrows and troubles in this life, but it is also true that we should expect God to bless us, amaze us, and come through for us in mighty overwhelmingly good ways. In a world full of sorrow and a culture focused wrongly on the prosperity gospel, it can sometimes be easy to forget the truth that God is for us and longs to bless us. Sometimes that means He does things we don't like, but other times it means He goes above and beyond what we can imagine.

I waited to hit publish, mostly because I expected the rental opportunity to fall through. And actually for a while it looked like it was going to. And then it wasn’t. And then it was again. And then another separate opportunity became available for us to take a big step forward in a dream coming true. And it too has felt like a huge blessing and a cherry on top besides and has also come with its own setbacks, concerns, fears, and struggles. 

Family!

The whole summer has me thinking about suffering and blessing and how bad we can be about identifying one from the other. We want to lump each life event into one category or the other. Blessings: walks on the beach, picking strawberries with my mom, seeing lots of family members, a fence and a pool in our backyard, cousins down the street and just across town. Not blessings: a busted lip that required a trip to urgent care and made me look like I got lip filler gone wrong for two weeks, construction and right lanes that keep ending and roads designed with U-turns in place of left turns as I try to navigate driving in our new location, the endless frustrations of being in a new house where you can't find where you put the colander and you can't remember which light switches turn on which lights. From our view here on earth we don’t see the whole picture. We don't know everything God is up to and can't determine how everything is going to fit together.

Last day on the beach! 

Hanging in our new backyard! 

It reminds me of a fable Max Lucado tells in "The Woodcutter's Wisdom and Other Favorite Stories" (you can read it here - https://maxlucado.com/woodcutters-wisdom-and-other-favorite-stories/). An old man encounters a variety of circumstances, one leading to another, some seemingly bad and some seemingly good. The townspeople come to him and quickly judge each situation as a blessing or a curse. The old man reminds them: "Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?"

I've spent a lot of words talking about suffering on earth, my attempts to wait patiently for the full restoration in heaven, the grief and longing I feel for my son, and the joy and hope of watching God at work in my struggles. It seems, however, that every time I write specifically about God working in our suffering, something happens to remind me of how God also works to bless us mightily here on earth, right here, right now. We are wise to wait patiently on the Lord and see what He is going to do next. Whether it feels like a blessing or a curse, the truth is He is with us and He is working out a grand redemption story. 

Five Years

My prayer for me, my family, all those who loved Oliver, and all who are missing someone special today: 2 Thessalonians 2:16-17 May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and by his grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope, encourage your hearts and strengthen you in every good deed and word.

Dear Oliver,

It's hard to believe it has been five years since you passed away. We still miss you every day. Sometimes it feels like it has been a million years without you already, but then I realized it must have been just a moment because I can still smell you and feel the weight of you in my arms.

We are busy today, in the middle of our third move since you died. The first move we were so sad to leave the place where you had been, but we were also excited for something new and thankful for the push forward. It was also so hard because part of me expected you to be there at our new location. Like somehow I would get out of the car after crossing a bunch of states and I would finally find you. I am not expecting that this time. Somehow life without you has become normal. I didn't really think that would happen.

We've been visiting with lots of our family as we transition from one location to another. People who miss you as much as we do, and people who have never met you but still help us remember you. We hit up some of our favorite haunts in Wisconsin and Michigan and tried some new places and activities too. I feel you close as we care for Nana and Papa's animals with them. The animals aren't the same ones you cared for, but your love is still there somehow. I feel you close as we visit Lake Superior beaches near Grandma and Grandpa's house. The sand has been rearranged with time, but I can still see you run in the waves and hear you laugh and squeal as you enter the cold water. The waves break in and out, pushing, changing, rearranging, moving ever onward, but your memory and presence lives on in my heart and mind. 

I've seen a few of your old friends recently too. They tower over me now and have deep voices, broad shoulders, and facial hair. They talk about high school, driver's licenses, sports, and the future. It is hard to imagine that would be you.

Your dad is about to hit a major career milestone. You sister and I are so excited and proud of him and can't wait to celebrate and support. And yet these milestones aren't the same without you, our accomplishments just a touch paler without you there with us. What we wouldn't give up for just one more day with you.

You would be proud of your sister. You always were. She is considerate, patient, helpful, thoughtful, creative, and determined. She has led the way through this dark valley without you. We didn't want to leave you, but we knew we had to go with her. It helps to remember that we didn't leave you, but instead you are waiting for us just ahead, just beyond the veil, and we'll get there someday too.

I don't know exactly when or how it happened, but we are dreaming of the future again. We've got a little place all picked out, and we can't wait to put down roots in the community and roots in our land. The unknown of these dreams makes me nervous sometimes, but then I think how excited you would be for us, or maybe even how excited you are for us, and I smile and keep dreaming and working.

Sometimes I think your death and my grief have finally granted me some peace and success over my perfectionism. I know now that I can do nothing on my own, that God is always the one who makes all things happen, that He gives the seeds, the water, the growth, the fruit. He makes all things work together for good in such a way that why would we ever try to make things go our way? And then other times the perfectionism comes roaring back, and I want to over-analyze every decision and control every variable, and only do exactly what I had planned to do. I'll keep trying and failing and trying again, trusting in God's amazing grace.

For so long grief felt like a mountain to climb, two steps forward eight hundred steps back, one million miles to go. Anytime it felt like I had made some progress and got near the top of some mountain, it turned out the horizon was just filled with more grief mountains to climb. And I suppose that is still true. But these days the mountains are less scary and unknown. I see the beauty here, I feel your presence here, more importantly I feel God's presence here leading me, so I'll continue walking until we are together again.

Love, Mom