Tag Archive | death

Why did Jesus not come? (part 3)

So how shall we react?

When Jesus decided to go to Bethany, his disciples tried to dissuade him because of the danger there, but Jesus said ‘Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe’. He was going to demonstrate his glory – so that they would believe. He wanted his disciples to to grow in their faith in him. And when Jesus was standing at the tomb, he prayed these words to his father: ‘I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me.’ That was his whole desire – that people would believe. And at the end of the story, we are told ‘Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what he did, believed in him’. People witnessed his power over death. And many of them believed. He was glorified.

So Jesus is unpredictable. He doesn’t always do what we expect. But he does always love us. He is greatly troubled and deeply moved by our sorrow and grief. But he is up to something far greater than we can imagine. He wants us to believe. He wants us to trust him.

When Jesus asked the sisters and their friends where they had laid Lazarus, they said to him, ‘Lord, come and see’. And when Jesus saw the tomb, He wept. This was not what He had intended. This was not His plan for His children. In my mind, I had laid my dad in the bed in the care home where he died – that was what I remembered when I thought of him. But Jesus reminds us that He is the resurrection and the life. He has conquered death forever. So our loved ones are not in the graves where we buried them. There is a far greater story. Jesus came to bring life. Jesus died to bring life. And so our loved ones – and we – have become part of his story. There is something far greater going on than the story that we are aware of. Can we believe that? Can we trust him?

Jesus does come – not always when we expect him to – but his delay does not mean that he doesn’t love us.

He may not answer all of our questions – but he weeps with us and is troubled when we are troubled.

He may not do what we ask him to do – but he is up to something far greater.

Can we trust him when we don’t understand what he is doing? Can we believe that he is good? A friend recently shared with me her story of perplexing loss and told me that she had come to believe in the ‘mystery of God’s goodness’.

I like that. I think I can believe in that – the ‘mystery of God’s goodness’.

(If you want to read part 2, click here; and if you want to read part 1, click here.)

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Why did Jesus not come? (part 2)

Mary and Martha are disappointed with Jesus

Jesus eventually does come – but he’s too late. Lazarus has died. And of course the sisters are disappointed. Martha goes to meet Jesus when she hears he is coming and she says to him, ˜Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died’.

Those words portray her faith in the power of Jesus – she knew that he could have saved Lazarus – but they also portray her disappointment that he didn’t come earlier.

Mary meets Jesus next and she says exactly the same words to Jesus: ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died’. Both sisters had wanted only one thing – one thing that they knew Jesus could give them – but he didn’t give it to them.

The fact that Jesus doesn’t do what we expect does not mean that He doesn’t care

We see the humanity of Jesus in this story in a way which we don’t see often in the New Testament. “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled. And he said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see’. Jesus wept….Then Jesus, deeply moved again, came to the tomb.” There are just a few other places in the NT where we read of Jesus being troubled: in John 12 his soul was troubled as he contemplated the cross; and in John 13 he was troubled as he contemplated his betrayal. Here he is ‘greatly troubled’ and ‘deeply moved’ when he sees the sorrow and grief of his dear friends.

So it wasn’t that he didn’t care about what had happened to them. When Jesus saw them weeping, he was deeply moved and greatly troubled. When he went to the tomb, he wept. Death was not how it was meant to be. God never intended that we would have to stand by the graves of our loved ones. When we weep, he weeps with us. He is moved by our sorrow and he is troubled by our grief. Isaiah 53 tells us ‘Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows’. 

Somehow that helps a lot. To realise that Jesus does come and that He does care, even though He doesn’t do what we expect Him to, brings me comfort and reassurance. He weeps with us. The fact that He doesn’t do what we expect Him to is not because He doesn’t love us.

Jesus is up to something far greater than we can imagine

Jesus was up to something far greater than the sisters or anyone else could imagine that day. When he had heard that Lazarus was sick, this is what he said: ‘This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.’ What did he mean – this illness does not lead to death? Of course it led to death – Lazarus was in the grave. But Jesus was going to raise him from the dead – and God was going to be glorified.

Then, as they stood at the tomb and Jesus asked them to take away the stone, Martha, said to him, ‘Lord, by this time there will be an odor’. But Jesus asked her: ‘Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?’ That was it – it was all about the glory of God that day.

Jesus could have gone right away, as soon as he heard that Lazarus was sick, and could have healed him. He healed many people when he was on earth and Lazarus could have been just one more. But because he loved Mary and Martha and Lazarus, he waited – and then did something far greater for them. He didn’t just heal Lazarus – he raised him from the dead. He allowed this family to witness an amazing demonstration of his power over death – for he is, as he said, ‘the resurrection and the life’. He wanted them to see his glory, to witness his power, to know for sure that he had conquered death – forever.

(If you want to read part 1, click here)

 

 

Why did Jesus not come? (part 1)

Why did it have to be this way? Why did Jesus not come?

My dad died last year after suffering from a particularly distressing form of dementia. He had loved and served God all of his life. The end of his life was hard. There was confusion, there were hallucinations, there was loss of mobility, added to loss of eyesight and loss of hearing. At the end, he didn’t know us any more. Somehow this was not how I expected it to be. How could a man who loved God end his days like this? How could God leave him to die like this? Why didn’t God answer my prayers for him? Why did Jesus not come? As my dad was dying, I just couldn’t deal with my questions. So I put them in a box and put the lid on. I told myself that it was OK to have questions which I had no answers to – because God was God and I wasn’t.

But in the year after his death, I began to realise that, while I had put my questions in a box and closed the lid on them, they had impacted by relationship with God. Yes I still trusted Him – but I wasn’t sure what He would do next. Maybe I wasn’t really sure that I could trust Him. Or at least I couldn’t trust the God I thought I knew.

For several months, I was drawn back again and again to the story of Lazarus in John 11.

Jesus loved Mary and Martha and Lazarus

At the very beginning of this story, the sisters of Lazarus sent a message to Jesus saying ‘He whom you love is ill’. That puts the story in the context of a relationship. This was a man whom Jesus knew and loved. And he was ill.

Furthermore, the story goes on to say ‘Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus’. So this was a whole family whom Jesus loved. In fact, we have more than one instance in the New Testament when we read of Jesus staying in their home in Bethany. He was a friend of this family, He was welcome in their home, He often ate there and it could have been that he stayed in their home from time to time, after being in the busy city of Jerusalem, for Bethany was just 2 miles outside Jerusalem.

But Jesus is unpredictable

So there was a strong relationship between Jesus and this family. How startling therefore it is for us to read these words: ‘Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.’ Now that doesn’t make any sense at all to us. If we were writing the story we would say something like this: ‘Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he rushed to his bedside to heal him’.

These words are perplexing for us. It’s not what love looks like to us. Jesus isn’t behaving the way we expect him to. We are left wondering what he will do next. He is unpredictable. As Mrs Beaver said about Aslan in CS Lewis’s book ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’: ‘he’s not safe but he is good’. Is He safe? Is He good?

‘When Jesus didn’t answer the pleas of Mary and Martha, they probably realised they didn’t know Him as well as they thought they did. Because as the hours of waiting turned into days, Jesus did not meet their expectations. And He may not meet ours. In the story of Lazarus Jesus redefines normal for us. The lingering Jesus does not offer a guarantee that things will work out as we think they should.’ The Lazarus Life by Stephen W. Smith.

(to be continued…)

A life lived with terminal illness – and with hope

Yesterday I had the privilege of attending an extraordinary thanksgiving service for the life of an extraordinary man – although he would never have allowed anyone to call him that.

douglas-and-alison

Douglas Mark’s desire was that his thanksgiving service (which he planned himself) would be ‘a time infused with joy and thanksgiving’ and that is exactly what it was – just as his life had been.

Douglas had lived with cancer for 10 years and had been through more than 40 chemotherapy treatments, but he refused to say that he was ‘battling with cancer’ or ‘coping with cancer’. He ‘lived with cancer’, fully accepting that this was part of the journey which God had chosen for him. He demonstrated joy as he trusted God with every detail of his cancer.  One of his favourite sayings was this:

 Life is not waiting for the storm to pass – it is learning to dance in the rain.

 

Douglas trusted God and that was clear right till the end of his life. He believed that it is more important to trust God than to understand Him. I am sure that it was that unshakeable trust in God which gave him the joy which characterised his life as he lived with cancer.

At the seminar which he and his wife Alison gave at New Horizon this year – which they called ‘Living with terminal illness, and with Hope’ – he said this about joy:

Joy is a self-assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life, a quiet confidence that ultimately everything will be alright and a determined choice to praise God in all things.

Douglas had chosen to praise God in all things. When asked how he was, he used to reply, ‘I’m thankful to be as well as I am’. His prayer was that he look for signs of God’s faithfulness every day.

Douglas and Alison were passionate about encouraging Christians to model to the world what it’s like to live with the hope of heaven in the face of death. They spoke in many churches and other places, encouraging Christians to live out their faith in this way.

Alison gave a very courageous tribute to Douglas yesterday, in which she said this:

Don’t allow what you don’t understand about God to destroy what you already know about Him.

As Douglas’s health declined in recent weeks, Alison refused to talk in despairing tones, choosing rather to say that Douglas was ‘edging gently home to heaven’. What a beautiful picture. And that is exactly what he did. There’s no doubt that he has heard his Lord and Saviour say ‘Well done’ as He welcomed him home.

He leaves a legacy: not just a life well-lived, but the challenge to us to live our lives well. For Douglas and Alison, that meant living their lives in the light of eternity and through the lens of eternity. It was that perspective which gave them the courage and faith to live with cancer and hope, at one and the same time.

To download a copy of the seminar which Douglas and Alison gave at New Horizon, go to http://newhorizon.org.uk/resources/mp3-downloads/

The Pain of Losing a Baby

Following my blog about miscarriage, I have heard from several friends who have very courageously shared their stories with me. I’m sharing parts of them here, to help us all learn more about this whole topic. It’s clear that the loss of a baby – at whatever stage – is a profound experience which these mums recall today as if it were yesterday.

What helped you through your experience?

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A 12-week old fetus

At first, what helped me was encouragement and care from my friends, most of whom were church friends.

The thing that was most helpful was the encouragement I received from other moms who had experienced miscarriages. Most of them had lost the babies early in the pregnancy and not as late as I did. But their empathy was precious.

One nurse helped just by rubbing my back as my body shook from shock.

It was helpful to have friends around.

My sister’s words “I just wish I was there to give you a hug” brought comfort and validated my experience.  That was the key…. I just wanted someone to say it was ok to feel sad.  I wanted my pain to be recognised and validated.

The knowledge that many people were praying for me gave me great comfort.

The experience of feeling that God was in control. Theologically I had always believed this, but this time I also experienced it in my feelings. I knew I was dying (they later confirmed this, saying that it was a miracle I was still alive) and yet I began to look forward very much to being with the Lord.

Previous to (this experience) I had been very ill and had had to lie in bed a lot. During that time I filled my mind with the Word of God and listened to quite a few sermons. I recommend filling your mind with the Word of God …. In crises like this He will bring it back to your thoughts. It helped me in bearing the pain.

Visits from dear Christian friends who came and prayed. Some just sat quietly by my side. Helped to make me comfortable, plumped up pillows, adjusted the blinds, asked me where they would like me to sit so that I would not have to turn my head uncomfortably to see them. Didn’t talk too much…. just came and sat quietly, a comforting presence. Not asking too many questions.

I was in a lot of pain and after the major abdominal surgery I wasn’t allowed painkillers because my liver couldn’t take them. Every cough, every movement, every visit to the bathroom was agony. Some of these friends were a great help with all of that, especially the trained nurses, and other sensitive people.

It was a great help that (my husband) kept so calm throughout the ordeal.

The…surgeon was quite a compassionate man. He visited me briefly every day to check on progress, and had just the right kind of reassuring touch, which helped to heal me further. The staff around you can heal you or hinder you. There is no doubt about it.

What helped me was eventually sharing what I had gone through with someone I trusted as I had kept it a secret initially. She encouraged me to grieve for my baby. I found this helped me to release all the pent up feelings I had kept hidden.

 

What was not a help to you?

A …nurse took it upon herself to pronounce that I must have sinned greatly for God to put me through such an ordeal. I responded that while I certainly wasn’t without sin, I wasn’t aware of any great deliberate disobedience. Needless to say I didn’t find her contribution to my recovery in any way helpful.

What did not help was when I told someone about losing my baby who had also had a miscarriage they said my loss was not the same as theirs as I had lost my baby at an earlier stage. This made me feel that my loss was not as significant.

Were there things that the medical professionals could have done differently?

Been more sympathetic, they were very matter of fact and clinical. They actually told me it was a good thing as it showed I could get pregnant as we had been trying to have a baby for three years. Even though I miscarried they said I should be pleased I had been pregnant.

When I lost the baby, I felt betrayed by the medical staff who couldn’t anticipate what was happening and didn’t prevent my miscarriage. Also, they had no answers….ever for WHY I lost the baby, and what I could do to prevent it happening again.

The medical staff were not attentive duing 12 hours of labor and delivery….Finally, after 12 hours, the baby was born … into a bedpan. And that is how she was presented to me a few minutes later….in a bedpan. When I returned to my room, the nurse aid walked in to give me a bath. She cheerfully asked me “Is this your first baby”? I told her I had lost my baby. She apologised. I was on the Obstetric ward with all the new mothers and babies…in a room with another woman who had miscarried. It would have been helpful to put us in private rooms isolated from the crying babies and happy mothers and guests.

The medical staff …. were really good. They kept me living in hope. Which in a sense was good but really not good. I think being real in love and truth would have been better for me. You see I knew by my loss of blood that it was really not going to be. It broke my heart lying in there for six days and then the following day I was taken to theatre for a D&C.

I was put into a side room – a kind gesture, but unfortunately it was in the maternity suite.  The nurses were more used to dealing with happy outcomes and, sadly I felt, ill-equipped when things did not go well.  Comments such as: “Sure you’re young, you have plenty of time to try again” , while maybe true, did not help. I couldn’t wait to get home.

Were there things that your friends and family could have done differently?

One thing that was NOT helpful was a comment from (someone who warned) me that ‘others would be watching’ me and how I handled grief…. that I should take care to keep it in check! Or that I should consider the effect my behavior might have on others.

I only had one visitor who wasn’t helpful. She immediately launched into all the medical problems of lots of other people she knew, her own medical problems, on and on she gabbled, couldn’t enter into my situation at all, and I wasn’t sorry to see her leave. But she was the one and only visitor in all that time who affected me like that, thankfully. Most were brilliant.

I kept it a secret which I now regret. Only my husband knew but I think he found it hard to really identify with how I felt. Perhaps I should have been more open so people understood why I was acting differently. It was my way of coping but I don’t feel it was the right way.

A church member, on my return to church after the miscarriage, quoted a verse to me: ‘Be thankful in all circumstances’. That was clearly not the time to quote a verse like that!

I hesitate to say this but some of the deepest hurts came from family.  I know my mum struggled to see me distressed but her comment “well I’ve had (x) miscarriages; you just have to get over it” didn’t help, in fact it made me feel that my feelings of deep anguish were abnormal.  This, together with a comment from another family member, “I’ll come and see you when you pull yourself together”, only made me withdraw and feel ashamed that I felt so bad.

What was the hardest part for you personally?

At the time I lost the baby I was one of 11 ladies in my circle of family and friends who were expecting babies. I was reminded, with each of their births, of my grief.

My hopes, expectations and plans I had already formed were all shattered. I had longed for this baby for three years and was ecstatic when I found out I was pregnant and subsequently devastated when my pregnancy ended.

Probably the hardest comment I heard/hear is that it was a miscarriage. It wasn’t. It was a baby at 36 weeks who should have lived. I think having a miscarriage must be way more painful than many people think, but carrying a chlid 8 months is a different experience (in the same way, losing a child after he is born must be still more excruciating.) Time is the healer, although I suspect the pain of loss is always there…

I feel the worst thing about losing my wee baby was the fact that I love children and she was mine. Emptiness. No grave to remember her by.  The worst thing was my sister who had a baby around the same time.

It was hard that my husband experienced grief much differently than me. Because he didn’t go to the funeral, he didn’t have any relationship with this baby and his own grieving was much quicker. Even today, it doesn’t affect him a lot, whereas I think of (the baby) when I see (a child of the same age)….. I felt quite alone through it all.

How did you deal with the loss from a spiritual point of view?

I felt that God had let me down.    I remember cooking supper in the kitchen and suddenly weeping. I put my head down on the counter top and was crying. My husband walked in and asked me what was wrong. I said, ‘I just lost a baby’!?! He said, ..’but that was 2 weeks ago’! I really was surprised how quickly he had moved on and how I was alone with this grief.

I did not know why the Lord had allowed this to happen. I knew that these things happen all the time. But 5 months into the pregnancy, the baby had personality for me. We named her. I am happy when my children, now, remember that they have a sister waiting to greet us in heaven.

I know my baby was a girl only cause I was so emotional one night and I prayed to God to show me what I’d lost  – a boy or girl. And in the dream that evening was a baby girl in a pink blanket on my knee.

I know my grief was compounded by the belief that it was not acceptable to feel so bad.  I had to hide my tears and pretend that I was ok.  I felt shame, for my tears but also for the thought that maybe I had inadvertently caused the miscarriage.  I found it difficult to pray.  I didn’t feel angry at God but I felt ashamed that I felt so bad.  I would have liked to to talk to someone who understood the mix of emotions and who could gently and sensitively direct me to God’s truth, love and acceptance.  I have learned so much from this experience and I hope it has made me more empathic.

I am grateful that all of that happened. I have understood better what others go through, I have understood what people suffer with anxiety and panic attacks as well as chronic pain. The whole experience has certainly not, in the goodness of God, been a wasted experience, and I have never regretted it. 

The only thing that helped me finally resolve the question ‘why’ was that I would be specially qualified to encourage others who would experience the loss of a baby through miscarriage.

A grave or burial?

I have one regret. It was not proposed to me that I could have had a private memorial service and arrange for a dignified way to bring this life episode to a close. I am sure my baby was incinerated without ceremony. But in my defense, I had never done this before. I wasn’t prepared for the decisions I should have been making. And the medical staff never offered me an option.

The fact back then there was no burial services left me with no grave. They just D&C you. Family went silent on me, except for my mum who said it wasn’t meant to be. My husband felt it but it is different for a man; we women carry everything and never forget dates and times; men think differently.

The surgeon came with a little jar holding the foetus. I was sleeping at the time, and I wish I had taken a better look when he woke me up. I especially wish I had asked if it was a boy or a girl. Even so, it helped it to sink in that we had just lost a wee baby, and I often thought back to that afterwards. He told me there had been ‘a lot of infection’ which they had now removed. That is quite a clear memory which has remained with me afterwards, even though I was dozy at the time. I think that is a helpful thing to do.

Memories

Going through it 20 years ago seems like yesterday.

I remember my experience of my miscarriage as if it were yesterday.  In reality it was 25 years ago.

Memories of this time of my life don’t preoccupy me unduly or define me. But it certainly was an extremely difficult time for me. It is difficult to revisit it, but I am quite happy to share my experience. I am fairly certain my experience is being repeated many times. If what I share of how I lived my experience can be helpful, that pleases me.

You can see how 25 years later it is still all so vivid in my mind. I still cry when I hear of miscarriages, and i still cry when I hear of abortions. Though I think I am over the grief of losing this little one.

Thank you for the opportunity to reflect on this Pauline.  The tears are close to the surface as I write this but as I read your experience it has helped me to know that that is ok.

We need to be there for one another, to let each other know that our grief is OK.

I would just like to thank all of these friends who have shared their stories so courageously. This is holy ground. And it demonstrates what a profound experience the loss of a baby is, as well as how personal a thing it is to each mum. Just as there is no ‘right’ way to grieve any loss, there is no right way to grieve the loss of a baby. And one thing is sure: the passing of time does not erase the memory of the loss. 

Jacque Watkins, a nurse who works with newborns and their parents, has written very sensitively about the experience of sitting with a woman who is losing her child through miscarriage. Jacque says this:

To grieve with another in the silence of their presence, THIS is holy work.

 

 

Good Friday and the darkness we don’t like to talk about

What’s good about Good Friday? There’s so much negative stuff going on – betrayal, denial, lies, deceit, anger, hatred, jealousy, anguish, pain, death.IMG_0961 - Version 2

We remember the fact that Jesus’ disciples forsook him and fled, the fact that Peter denied him and Judas sold him, the fact that the authorities believed the false witness against him, the fact that Pilate washed his hands of him, the fact that he died the most painful, shameful death known at that time.

Many of us sit uncomfortably between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, anxious to get to the glorious hope which the resurrection bring to us. We don’t like the time in between. We run from the negative stuff – the betrayal, denial, lies, deceit, anger, hatred. jealousy, anguish, pain, death. We would much rather rejoice and celebrate in the victory which Sunday brings.

But it’s Friday. And sometimes it’s good for us to linger here for a while among the negative stuff. Why are we so afraid of it when it is so much a part of the biblical story? I see it again and again – I’m sure you do too. Some people like to hear me talk about my depression because it gives them a voice too – but others are uncomfortable with it. Why dwell on the negative stuff? Why look back at the pain? Why talk about the darkness? Because that’s where many are living today.

I see it when people ask how my dad is. Remembered by many as a man who loved God’s Word and preached it round N.Ireland, today he is in a nursing home, struck by a form of dementia which has mostly robbed him of the gift of coherent speech, among other things. When people ask how he is and I tell them, some will quickly say ‘Well, at least he’s content’ and sometimes I tell them no, I don’t think he is. And I want to cry, ‘Would you be content? Would I?’ But I see the look on their faces – the pain at having to process that, the not knowing what to do with it, the not having a category to put it in. This is not how it’s supposed to be.

And they are right – this is not how it’s supposed to be. God never intended us to have a world with depression and dementia and death in it. So we don’t have to pretend he did. We don’t have to pretend it’s alright – because it isn’t.

Good Friday is Good Friday, not because there’s anything good about any of this, but because out of the darkness and shame and pain and death, there actually is a glimmer of hope. Jesus takes on himself all of our pain and shame so that we we know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he understands it all – there is nowhere we have been that he hasn’t been; and in taking it all on himself, he redeems it and by a miracle of grace transforms it into something good and beautiful and true.

So that on Easter Sunday there is something wonderful to celebrate – Jesus has conquered sin and death forever. The fact that Jesus rose again means that we will rise again too.

Everybody dies in Adam; everybody comes alive in Christ. But we have to wait our turn: Christ is first, then those with him at his Coming, the grand consummation when, after crushing the opposition, he hands over his kingdom to God the Father. He won’t let up until the last enemy is down—and the very last enemy is death!  I Corinthians 15.

We are not there yet – we still live in Good Friday a lot of the time, among the shadows and the darkness and the pain. But Jesus has won the war and, as Paul Tripp says, he is ‘still doing his sin-defeating work’. He is still in control. He is reigning even when it looks like he’s not. And he understands the pain and darkness of Good Friday. Because he’s been there.

Living with Eternity in View

Feeling frustrated at being so ‘earth-bound’ and so unmindful of eternity and what it means, I looked for books that might help me out.

The first one I read was ‘Code Red’ by Andrew Drain, a cardio thoracic surgeon who in 2007 was diagnosed with the worst form of acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. I wanted to read the thoughts and discoveries of someone facing a terminal illness, with heaven in view.

I was not disappointed. Andrew writes honestly about the ups and downs of his treatment, using the book of Job to inform his growing understanding of suffering.

When his final relapse began in 2009, he found he could face death with confidence because he knew that his ‘redeemer lives’.

The second book I read was ‘Forever’ by Paul Tripp. Written with Paul’s usual honesty and depth of insights, this book is for anyone who feels that the ‘pack-it-all-in mentality’ we live with has led to frustration and disappointment.

Paul argues that having an eternity perspective will enable us to live for something bigger than ourselves and larger than this moment. No longer trapped in the shrunken kingdom of ‘right here, right now’, we can learn to lead lives of greater significance and peace.

Using real-life honest examples from his own life, Paul says that God used the concept of Forever to teach him the following lessons:

1. The future grace of eternity guarantees me present grace.
2. The guaranteed end of the story secures control over my story in the present.
3. Final peace guarantees the presence, power and provision of the Prince of Peace in the here and now.
4. Eternal hope gives me reason for present hope.
5. God’s work of change, which will culminate in an eternity where all things are new, assures me that real change is possible in the here and now.
6. The final restoration of all things guarantees me the help I need until they are restored.