My husband and I had an odd conversation on the way to church this morning. I said I sometimes wish we could be killed in a car accident rather than carry on living. Thankfully, we’ve been married long enough, and he knows me well enough, not to take a statement like that as a personal indictment. I’m one of the most blessed people you may ever know. I have everything I need, and quite a lot of what I want. I have a fantastic husband, a wonderful daughter and son in law, a home I enjoy, a church family I love dearly and satisfying work to do. And pretty decent health, to boot. I’m hardly suicidal. And I knew that he wasn’t either, though he did agree with me that he sometimes feels the same way. We’re just weary of our own sin.
Many people think I’m a nice person. (Fools! I know what’s in my heart. Nice? Hardly.) Some people think we’re generous with our time and money. (We know how much better we could be doing as stewards of what God has entrusted to us.) I’m thankful for the fact that access to heaven is unrelated to my performance. I know too well how far I fall short. But the older I get, the more I’m looking forward to the rest of heaven. Not rest from labor, but rest from myself. Rest from my sinful nature. Finally being able to put myself aside and really focus on God’s glory. I’ve had a few samples of that here, usually during worship but sometimes in prayer, and I can’t help but anticipate the day when that’s the new normal.


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