pondering the new earth on a surprise snow day

A surprise snow day, February 16, 2021- Birmingham, Alabama

Days like this feel like a taste of heaven-meeting-earth, or I suppose really, the New Earth. A reality that pushes us beyond what we thought was possible yesterday (definitely didn’t think snow would meet us here today), and ushers us into the wonder of something we cannot control, cannot take credit for.

The tension between the New Earth and the present has pressed firmly on my soul recently; I’ve seen a lot of pain in the last year, and every time I see a blazing sunset or have a good meal with my husband, filled with laughter and the sizzling of garlic, I sense an ache in my chest, and a prayer rises from my heart:

Come, Lord Jesus, come.

I long for it always to be this way, candle-lit dinners which feel like God is at our table, eating grilled cheese along with us. Wondering at His love has become the protection of my soul in a season full of hardship.

In the New Earth, I imagine that each day we will wake up, like on an unexpected snow day: blissfully in love with the possibilities awaiting us in the hours between dawn and dust. We will gather in the streets, in the town squares, courtyards, unified in purpose: have some plain ole fun by enjoying God and His earth, and in the same breathe, bring glory to the One who thought up such a day as—not only snow days—but surprise snow days.

We will work throughout the day, head-deep in communal love, worshipping Him all along, truly joyful in laughter, and with a sense of infinite purpose (to glorify & enjoy our Father), a purpose that doesn’t wane. The cherubims will equip us in our journey of glorifying Him in our day’s work.

Then, at the end of the day, we will take our worked hands (not sure if they’ll be perfectly tired, or just ready to rest—is there tiredness in the New Earth? like the good kind?), and we will wash them at the nearest well or lake, with a good scrub-down, sudds and all. Clothed in warm, beautiful, and dignified clothing and possibly crowns? (not sure if the crown of life is literal, haha) that our Father has crafted for us. We will nearly run to dinner with our Father, hugging Him, telling Him all about the day (or maybe He witnessed it all, I’m not sure—in His kindness, He will probably just let just tell Him for the fun of the recounting, either way), and we will create a feast for the books, and eat it to our full. Then, we will gather around (possibly around a fire), and lay our crowns down, and ask Him all the questions about His glorious nature (Psalm 27:4), and receive the most heart-shifting, awe-inspiriting, unimaginable answers possible, because He’s just so wonderful.

We will feast together, and those crowns He made for us?

We will lay them down at His feet, to the glory of the One who thought up things like surprise snow days.

We will cast them off, singing:

His kindness, immeasurable.
His compassion, unmatched.
His goodness, incomprehensible.
His love, who could have thought it up?


We will sing to His glory.

And what is His glory, exactly?

Himself, embodying all of these lyrics in One.

Oh, come, Lord Jesus!

Come.

Your bride is waiting, breath bated.

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