There Will Be a Day: Hope for the Best and Worst of Days

Do you ever just feel so joyous that you want to walk around singing at the top of your lungs?... Like The Sound of Music, Julie Andrews running to the top of that Alpine mountain, "the hills are alive..." type singing? That's how I feel sometimes as I look back on the amazing things God has done in my life.

Do you ever feel the sting of what could have been, a sort of dull, lingering ache? Do you wonder if it will always be there, buried just below the surface? Do you ever just miss things the way they used to be, even though you are content where you are now too? Yeah, I feel that sometimes too.

Exuberant, electrifying  joy, with sorrow mingled in. How does that make any sense? It's enough of an emotional roller coaster to knock even the most rational girl off her rocker every once in a while.

As more and more time has passed since Jake's home-going to Heaven, the pain has gotten softer. (My sweet friend Jaca always assured me that it would.) Most days, it doesn't keep me from interacting pleasantly and joyfully with others. Most days it doesn't cripple my productivity. Some days pass without it even occupying my conscious thoughts. Some days I even experience pure, unadulterated joy at the way my life has worked out.

But some days are still hard.

Grief is a tricky thing. I don't always know what is going to trigger it. Sometimes I am surprised when and how it hits me. Some days the wound still feels so fresh. For one reason or another I'll dream of him; it seems so real, and when I wake up, it's like losing him all over again. Or I'll watch a movie we used to enjoy together, or see a close friend of his, or come across an old photo on Facebook. I think most people who have experienced grief would agree that even after much time has passed, its suddenness and severity can still stun you.

About a year ago, one of my best friends lost her dad to a long and hard-fought battle with cancer. His funeral was the first one I had attended since Jake's. I was floored by the flood of emotions I felt that day. I wanted to be there for my friend in a meaningful way, but I couldn't stop my mind from replaying the details of Jake's funeral and the days surrounding it. The ache was still there.

Hudson has a picture book called "Jesus and Me." One of the pages states simply, "He makes all things beautiful." One day, as I read that sentence to him, Hudson took his eyes off the page, looked at me right in the eye, and smiled. I felt as if God was talking right to me and immediately started crying (oh the crazy things our little ones see us do sometimes). I felt such deep gratitude for the "beauty from ashes" story that God had given me and that was embodied in the little boy laying in front of me.

This, I think is how life is for most of us. A lot of days pass without much to be said of them. Then there are some days of deep, welling up, overflowing joy. And sprinkled throughout: days of pain, of heartaches, of grief. And sometimes, Lord-willing, you'll experience the beautiful tension of having deep pain and deep joy at the same time. I think God means for us to experience that tension for one main reason, to point us to Heaven.

When I experience the beauty of a sunset or a mountain view, I hope my response is, "One day, there will be a day where I will see Jesus, and all other views will pale in comparison."  When I feel the joy of watching my child play and laugh, I think I'm meant to be reminded, "There will be a day where I get to experience fully what it means to be a child of God." When I feel the love of my husband or the love of a friend, I want to think, "This is just a shadow of the love that my Heavenly Bridegroom has for me." When I feel completely broken at the news of another of my brothers or sisters in Christ seemingly gone too soon, I think, "There will be a day when we will all be united together with Jesus in the clouds!"  When I face a trial that seems too heavy to bear and where my faith seems so weak that I can barely see the way forward, I can declare, "There will be a day when my faith shall be sight!"

There will be a day.
What hope there is in those words, in looking forward.
What beauty there is in the tension between the deep joys and deep sorrows, often mingling together, and the ever present ache for something more perfect, more secure, more permanent.
And one day that ache will be no more.
And that longing will be filled for all who are in Christ.
There will be a day.