perhaps today
I was young once.
About a million years ago.
I think I almost remember it.
And back then I remember hearing people – old, crazy, out of touch people – saying stuff like, “I look forward to heaven” and “Goodness, I wish Jesus would return soon”.
Back then, Young Lacey, Not Suffered Any Yet Lacey, would listen to those people and think, “Man, they’ve let life get them all bitter. They don’t have much good going on. I hope I never get that old. I like life a lot. Shh, don’t tell these guys, but I sort of want Jesus to come back a long long time from now.”
Now I am old. (Okay, not in years really, just in experience.)
And my thoughts run quite differently these days.
I painted this on the door of the kitchen.
Perhaps Today.
And I told the kids why I painted it there.
Perhaps today.
Perhaps today all the suffering will end. Perhaps today our home won’t feel so broken and our hearts won’t feel so injured and our little weak selves won’t feel so lost in our huddled together pain.
Perhaps today Jesus will draw us up to Himself and our tears will be wiped away and our mourning will turn to dancing.
And those thoughts no longer seem insane.
They no longer sound like old people talk.
They sound like hope to me.
And if they sound like crazy old people talk to you – you know what? I really don’t mind.
I know the life I am living. I know the pain I am carrying. I know the burden placed on the miniature shoulders of children too young to bear it. And I know what it feels like to watch my little people suffer through no fault of their own.
Even my children understand this language of future peace. London says, “Heaven sounds so good I can’t wait for heaven some days.” Hawkeye holds my hand and his eyes light up when we read God’s word promising no tears and no pain in heaven
And so Perhaps Today speaks of hope and mercy and salvation. Of rescue and relief and healing.
It speaks of an eternity that is endlessly better than the reality in which we have found ourselves.
Keep Reading . . .
how do you do it?
the directions. and where our stories take us.
11 Comments
Tracy Namie
My Nana used to say “Come quickly Jesus” because of her physical pain. I find my emotional pain causes the same thoughts…….. I am always hopeful at the end of the day as that puts me one day closer to the finish line. Hoping and praying with you and yours.
laceykeigley
I know that end of the day feeling.
And yet.
Yet, God.
And we rise again the next day with the privilege and the burden of caring for our young.
My heart still sits heavy for you and your girls.
There are just hard days — sustained just barely enough by God’s grace and kindness.
Margie
I think I will place that somewhere on a door too. Wow!
laceykeigley
I’d love to see it if you do! Maybe the new house! 😉
Sara
Yes. Young Sara thought the same.
Older Sara believes it is good that God gives the young such ideals and hopes and dreams. The experienced are burdened and longing for that “New Home.” Without the dreamers perhaps we would become truly bitter and hardened.
Sending so much love as I weep with you in this pain.
Always. Always praying. For you and for your littles.
Perhaps. Perhaps today.
laceykeigley
I think you are the one who told me your father-in-law (?) had this written somewhere on his door too.
Chelsea
Amen.
Shelley
Beautiful hope you’re passing down to your children, Lacey. All of our children will suffer some day and in some way in this world. You are every day giving them a “theology of suffering.” You are teaching them to hope even in the suffering. This is priceless. He sees.
laceykeigley
A theology of suffering.
What a hard course.
Thank you for saying “He sees”. That matters so much.
beth
I remember feeling the same way — that I could *wait* for heaven. But man, I cave it now. I’m praying for you and yours this a.m. So sorry for the pain you all have had to endure. It’s so beautiful how you can describe it. And even more beautiful that you point your kids to Jesus. The gift they’re receiving daily, with you as their mom . . . ♡
laceykeigley
I’m not certain what gift I am to them – but am continually humbled and grateful for the gift they are to me.