We’re in the middle of moving.
We had to find a new house (half the size of our current one). We’ve been figuring out how to downsize and fit into a much smaller space (a very good challenge, but a challenge nonetheless). We’ve been getting our current house ready to sell (I’ve tended not to notice too much when things needed fixing or painting, but I know someone else will). Bustle, hustle. Hustle, bustle.
I actually really enjoy all the challenges involved in moving and selling, and I tend to give them a lot of attention. The fact is—and I don’t know what you’ll think about this—I even dream about them. (For example, I dreamed that my son set down a hot pan on the white countertops and burned a spot into them that I couldn’t scrub out. Okay, so I didn’t enjoy that part so much.)
So there’s a lot of emphasis on the temporal. On things that really, in the big picture, just aren’t that important.
But today I’m sitting in a hospital waiting room with two young girls whose single mother has cancer.
It’s turning my mind more about the eternal—about things that are really important. I look at the two young girls sitting with me, and I think about that greater and more lasting treasure. Eternal souls.
I’ve never forgotten that in the letter to the Hebrews, the author said (and I paraphrase from my faltering memory), “You rejoiced when your persecutors destroyed your stuff, because you knew that in heaven you had a greater and more lasting treasure.”
Or what about this one: Your light affliction [which may not seem light at the time], which is but for a moment, will work in you a far greater and more eternal weight of glory.
The things that are seen are temporal. The things that are not seen are eternal.
And so I say to myself . . .
Compare. Contrast. Hold the long view. Even in the midst of American-style moving, keep your eyes on what you can’t see. Never forget what’s really important. Never forget which one is ephemeral.