Hope That Goes Unseen

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.”
Romans 8:18-25 ESV


            Here I wait, with patience, for something infinitely greater than anything that I could ever know here. If anything, I have spent my life desperately chasing after faint tastes of what is to come. In my wildest dreams on this groaning planet, I can only hope for the shadow of the cloud of His glory. Only an echo of Heaven’s chorus has ever been heard: only the chance of singing in unity and agreement with the never ending songs of the angels.

            But there is something greater, and it is coming. Everything that we are here is preparation for that eternal home. We are not yet home, but inwardly we long and yearn to walk upon its shores. The greatest stories told among us are re-tellings of our journey there, of our longing for home. Once we become aware of this, our innermost heart’s cry, we can allow these hopes and desires to flow out of us and resonate with the whole of creation.


            My heart is stirred from its numbed slumber at the most subtle mention of the country that I will call home. Nostalgia for a place that I have never been echoes in songs and words, and my heart is overwhelmed with joy and a holy sadness. All I have for now are stories, told by others who know of what is to come. And I, in turn, tell stories that overflow from the hope that swells in my heart. Together, as story tellers, we rejoice in the hope of what we do not yet see. We wait with patience for what we know is coming. We are almost home. 


~Heather Rose

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