Kingdom Ready

The older I get the more I long for the end of the story, for the Kingdom fully come. Part of me is tired. That old part. And I’m not even 60.

Like Lot in Sodom and Gomorrah, however, I’m tired of the rebellion. (2Peter 2:7) The conflict between God’s order and human disorder lies like an anchor in my soul. Chained to this disorder, I yearn for the weightlessness of the Kingdom. I long to live among people who’ve claimed their place in Papa-God’s family. Women and men who recognize the image of God in each other. Among those whose hearts belong completely to Jesus.

But it’s not what our good father has ordained. What we walk in now, like the spider web attached to the rusty chain, is both/and. We live among the contradictions.

I do thank him it’s not only the oxidized iron. I thank him that the spider’s silky food net, caught here in the early morning dew, is beautiful to us.

In spite of the constant conflict, I thank him for the wisdom of the plan. I thank him for the sure and certain end of the story. I thank him for stories that remind us of life lived happily ever after. I thank him that, one day, only the beauty will remain.

Even our old bodies will be renewed and restored, changed in the twinkling of an eye. I’m ready.

Lord Jesus, we may be ready, but we want you to come only when you are ready. In the fullness of your time. Give us, please, your rest while we wait.

Real Role in Cosmic Play

I’m not a real writer. Yes, I’ve won an award for my memoir, written a prize-winning poem, published articles in national magazines, and devote several hours a week to writing. And yet, it doesn’t drive my life, like some writers. “I have to write.” “I need to make sentences.” “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my WIP (work in progress).” I’ve read many versions of those statements.

Although, on the other hand, “writers write.”  I do write. Most predictably I produce this weekly devotional. Googling “Karen Rabbitt” (with the quote marks) points to several pages of writing.

Writing, though, isn’t my prime focus. Thinking is. Thinking about how to experience the depth of Father-God’s passion and compassion for myself. How to communicate that depth to others. How to help people heal from shame, choose forgiveness, and grieve life’s losses.

And yet, I’m not a real thinker, either. Real thinkers study harder, read more research, spend hours in Bible study.

I think it’s the internet that drives the thoughts of not being “real.” The contact on Twitter and the blogosphere with more focused, “real” writers and thinkers. It’s the old comparison trap, amplified by access to dozens, hundreds, thousands of better writers and thinkers.

Time to refocus. Regain perspective. Reread the script God’s handed me. Whether I’m a real writer or a real thinker by some personal standard, I want to be the “real” Karen Rabbitt in this play God is directing. Sounds ironic, doesn’t it?

But author God is writing his cosmic play. To be real is to play the part written for us.

Father, May we stop looking at the roles you’ve written for others. Give us eyes only for our own script.

A Peculiar Wedding

I’ve often thought the group we gather for a wedding to be odd, unusual, and never repeated, except maybe at a funeral. Some family, lots of friends, a few people we don’t know all that well–co-workers, a church elder, our childhood Sunday school teacher.

Many times, guests don’t know each other. Singles come alone, hoping to encounter their own future spouse. Most of our friends don’t know our families unless grew up in a small town and got married young. Maybe other cultures pull together a more homogeneous mix, but in America, it’s usually a unusual gathering.

This morning I saw a post on Facebook from a “friend” who I can’t recall ever befriending in person. Like those who gather for a wedding, Facebook is an odd group. Five hundred million people from all corners of the world, inviting each other into various groupings to post on each other’s “wall.”

At a wedding, we’re in our silk and wool, smiles at hand for our seatmates, small talk stored in readiness. On Facebook, we’re casual. Nobody sees. We can participate or not and nobody thinks the worse of us if we’re silent for long periods of time.

Though we can dress down on Facebook, and small talk is prevalent, we’re more likely to speak our hearts—whether truth or compassion.

And unlike the brief gathering of wedding guests, Facebook endures. In that longevity and intimacy, it’s more like the coming marriage supper of the Lamb than any wedding we’ve attended.

That party will be Jesus’ peculiar bride, gathered. I doubt we’ll talk about the weather. We’ll ask each other:  “How did you meet the groom?” “What’s the best talk you’ve ever had with him?” “Can you believe we’re really here?”

Forever will not be too long for that party.

Jesus, we are watching for our invitations. Come at the right time, in the right way, as you always do.