It’s the rest of the week. Is there anything you are looking forward to—tomorrow, next week, or in the more distant future?
How do you feel when you think about it?
Here’s what I wrote in newsletter #23 about this:
Work this week (on the heels of that sleep-depriving trip to Michigan) was long and complicated with excessive paperwork.
Every time I thought about the upcoming weekend, however, I felt a little surge of motivation to keep pushing through. I couldn't wait.
I looked forward to being done, relaxing, resting.
On Tuesday, Daniel flew across the country, back to school, meaning both of our sons are now gone.
Even in the sadness of good-bye, however, I experienced flickers of joy remembering that the holidays are coming and that they'll be back. I've started my mental list of the fun things we can do and the treats I can make for them.
I'm not about to wish my life away, but even as I stay in the moment, I can't wait to see them again.
As I stare down the challenges, obstacles, and frustrations sitting in the middle of the road we're on, and discuss the best plan of attack with Ricardo, I'm finding it helpful to look past those immediate things and catch a glimpse of what lies beyond.
We have dreams and plans. My parents will come and my mom and I will visit her mom's graveside (which she's never seen) and visit the boarding school Mom attended that year before moving out west after her mom died. Our extended family will get together in the summer, Ricardo's parents will visit, we'll celebrate 25 years of marriage, Gabriel will graduate...
It's like borrowing a little joy from the future—infusing the present moment with something helpful by tapping into the very real feeling that comes with anticipation.
I wrote a while back about remembering places where we've found rest, about holding them in our hearts to facilitate the experience of rest in the here and now. Apparently, anticipating something pleasant in the future is also a powerful way to foster feelings of well being (and, I'd add, rest.)
There's a whole study about this, if you're interested: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/p...
Anticipation is connected to hope and faith. We hope for something with faith and this allows us to anticipate it. Something like heaven, like a new earth, like seeing Jesus.
Perhaps it takes imagination.
Tonight, resting from the work week, I listened to Bart Miller's song, "I Can Only Imagine," a song that wonders aloud what it will be like to finally see Jesus face to face.
Can you imagine—to see, to touch, to talk to Jesus? To encounter him as a real person, unhindered by theological discourse and the inner world of ideas?
This part of the song brought that future moment into the present for me as I imagined twirling around and jumping for joy, standing speechless, sinking to my knees... mostly of embracing Jesus and weeping in gratitude and relief, face hidden in the folds of whatever he is wearing.
Surrounded by Your glory
What will my heart feel?
Will I dance for You Jesus
Or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence
Or to my knees, will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah?
Will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine
(https://www.google.com/search?...)
I can't wait for that moment.
May your rest be sweet,
Alicia