I bought flowers for myself yesterday.

The grocery store had a sale. $6.99 for a dozen roses. White, yellow, hot pink. Long stems with full buds that I knew would soon burst into a glorious multi-petal display. For now, they hovered between sleep and wakefulness. Thus the price tag. But the hints of vibrant color spoke of a future glory, and I couldn’t resist.

So I bought a dozen. Shelled out the seven bucks and change. Drove home, carried them inside, through the living room, and into the kitchen. I found a crystal clear glass vase, filled it with lukewarm water. Then, I pulled the roses out of their packaging, trimmed each of the twelve stems to different lengths, and slid one stem at a time into the water, carefully arranging each to display their collective beauty.

Satisfied, I carried the vase to my office and set it on my bookshelf, directly across from my desk. Then I sat in my office chair and admired my roses. This is where I spend most of my days — in my office, writing, praying, learning, and collaborating. This is where I do the ordinary lackluster tasks of life and work. But now, every time I need a shot of beauty and hope, I turn and look at my roses. And something within me settles, exhales.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
2 Corinthians 4:16-18 NIV

It’s been a challenging week. Actually, it’s been a long stretch of multiple challenging weeks, one right after another. This happens sometimes; it’s part of life. There are good days and not-so-good days. I’ve lived long enough to know this is how it works.

I know you know something about this, too. You have your difficult days and weeks. Like me, you probably have days when the bad seems to far outweigh the good. Like a furious storm that blurs the landscape outside your window, all you can see is bad weather. When will it end?

When, Lord, when? 

This is why I bought myself a dozen roses yesterday. I knew I needed to stop looking at the rain and instead fix my eyes on future glory. I needed to remind myself that my story — your story — is yet unfolding. In the timeline of eternity, we hover between sleep and wakefulness, unable to grasp how it will all work out in the end. Goodness, what a mess it all seems! Who could possibly unravel the impossible knot that is this human existence?!

When, Lord, when? 

Though God may appear absent or indifferent, that can’t be further from the truth. He’s here, and He’s already put everything in place for a glorious unfolding. Like a rosebud hovering between sleep and wakefulness, resurrection is just around the corner. New life, better life, in glorious display, full of vibrant color that will take our breath away. And a beauty that will make us forget all about the rain.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

Yes, Lord. Make it so. 

 

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