That thing on the horizon

Looks shiny, like it could be something good

Been here before yet it always seems different at first

We long for a better day in this fragile shell of being

Tis our nature and a hunt that can only be satisfied in Christ.

He is the One who satisfies our soul

More glorious than the reflection of an earthly sun

Fulfillment leaving no corners empty or draining

Uplifting, transforming even if our frame stays the same.

For off in the distance is not a new truck or cure or home

Down the road is the answers to all for which our hearts long

Nothing in this life will ever compare to His love

I grieve for those whose gaze falls short, never winning the race of life.

We have arrived at “The Station” at the top of the mountain

When we accept His offer of grace

And the journey will be meaningful in ALL of its parts

Each road trip a destination worth the taking in the end. Amen.

JJ

The Space Between

Perhaps this was a movie title or that of an old business card

Ah, the lingering spaces between events good, bad, or ugly

Do hold some value despite their lack of measurement on scale.

I spend them wandering through the hallways of our home by day by night

From bed to couch to chair to bed, ahhhhh not much going on here

When sickness marks the hours wanting for an answer, something new.

Antibiotics are on hold from now til whenever as this past year ends

With little change beyond fewer hours of the worst of the hell, I guess

And the unwelcome addition of thirty-four new diagnoses to boot!

I have learned so much of what to do and what not to do as well

My stack of papers tell a long tale witnessed by ERs, a few friends,

A weary husband, and scores of medical peeps paid by someone to care.

My goal to find meaning in these places between crises, visits to hell

Has gone dry like a wellspring once filled with life now bone on bone dry

Stained with spent tears, one worn-out puppy, and a purse now threadbare.

The money went away with five years of living the, uh, alternative life:

Don’t call me “disabled” for there still is a bit o’ fight within me, down deep

To endure this long “medical leave” on my way to a makeover not yet revealed.

So as I breathe in the goo between the more defined places of this life

I take note that here is where energy can move along unencumbered

And one day may bring me to my own railway “Station” or at least my next big stop . . .

Gentle Reader, I hope you will be there waiting for me, won’t you?  JJ

Weary from the road

Christmas chocolate.small

“They say no pain no gain

I say roses are worth the rain!”

Or so the song went that I wrote back then

When “recovery” seemed like something I could attain.

Decades later I realized the wisdom of Robert Hasting’s Station

A place where you reach your goal, Nirvana, the prize, all you’ve been awaitin.’

Too bad life is often not like that:  the good, the bad, the ugly all take their turn

You never really know what you are going to get when your head lifts from the pillow at dawn.

And so goes my new treatment when things have gotten worse before getting better,

How is this even possible when it appeared the Lord orchestrated these steps to the letter.

Now faith means holding on to that which is unseen for the promise of my Lord’s Day

When the suffering will end, be redeemed for glory whether it comes soon or some other way.

I borrowed my beloved’s belief tonight when mine was just too shaken to go on any more–

With love in his eyes, his heart he prayed for healing and more once again like so many times before.

We know our Lord hears us and that we have His will, His heart within our own

I just pray I can hang on this weary road that seems to have gone on just too long.

[Please send chocolate . . . pure unsweetened cocoa butter works best right now.  JJ]

************

My hope this night is the promise of my Lord and Savior that, “He will wipe every tear from (our) eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”  Revelation 21:4  Somehow, someway, I am going to make it, Gentle Reader!

The Station by Robert J. Hastings

The True Joy of Life is the Trip

 

THE STATION

By Robert J. Hastings

   TUCKED AWAY in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision.  We see ourselves on a long, long trip that almost spans the continent.  We’re traveling by passenger train, and out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls, of biting winter and blazing summer and cavorting spring and docile fall.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination.  On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station.  There will be bands playing and flags waving.  And once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true.  So many wishes will be fulfilled and so many pieces of our lives finally will be neatly fitted together like a completed jigsaw puzzle.  How restlessly we pace the aisles, damming the minutes for loitering, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

However, sooner or later we must realize there is no one station, no one place to arrive at once and for all.  The true joy of life is the trip.  The station is only a dream.  It constantly outdistances us.

When we get to the station that will be it!” we cry.  Translated it means, “When I’m 18 that will be it!  When I buy a new 450 SL Mercedes Benz, that will be it!  When I put the last kid through college that will be it!  When I have paid off the mortgage that will be it!  When I win a promotion that will be it!  When I reach the age of retirement that will be it!  I shall live happily ever after!”

Unfortunately, once we get “it,” then “it” disappears.  The station somehow hides itself at the end of an endless track.

“Relish the moment” is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: “This is the day which the Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad in it.”  It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad.  Rather, it is regret over yesterday or fear of tomorrow.  Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.

So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles.  Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more and cry less.  Life must be lived as we go along.  The station will come soon enough.

(This version of “The Station” made its first debut in Ann Landers’ Column on May 17, 1981.)

“Dear Ann Landers:  I wrote a little essay that appeared in theIllinois Baptist and I am sending it to you with permission to share it with your readers if you wish.”  Robert J. Hastings, Editor.

“Dear Robert Hastings:  It’s a beauty.  Thank you for sending it on.”  Ann Landers.

http://robertjhastings.net/