“Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling…For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.”
Every time I read that first sentence (and I’ve been reading it over and over as I get distracted or get off my reading schedule), I take it very literally and enjoy the reminder that this earthly tent isn’t very important in the grand scheme of things.
And I have been groaning lately, and feeling burdened. Burdened by our surroundings. Burdened by the rough cement floors that coat our feet and stuff and lungs with dust. Burdened by the brown dirt yard. Burdened by the makeshift totes pushed together to become our work/eat/sit/sleep surface. Burdened by the unpainted walls. Burdened by the bare bulbs.
I love a good decorating magazine, but I’m definitely not living in one…I don’t know why I keep thinking that someday I will.
The other day it hit me that this groaning is because I see the disparity between what I want and what I have. That’s pride…I’m thinking I deserve to have better. But wouldn’t it be so much cooler if the groaning and burdened-ness was because I’m longing for a heavenly home? Because I’m seeing the wonderfulness of what’s to come and desiring to be there instead of here? I’ve often seen people trying hard to make themselves happy, and said that they are trying to fill the need that God has created in them that only He can fill. Maybe that is what is going on with me. I am trying to fill a desire with the wrong things. I’ve been wanting a pretty house. Or at least an organized house.
Instead of looking at what I don’t have, I can look at what I will have. Concentrate on that which will never grow old, tarnish, or fade. Pretty sure I won’t have to wet and sweep my heavenly floors 2 times a day.