And the curse continues
It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart. – Ecclesiastes 7:2-3
Cruising back home after a satisfying day of work where I kept my mind pure and focused on the task at hand with the thought of returning home to my wife and sons….this is when I need to be reminded of the fact that I am not home yet. This world holds no happiness; nothing that should infatuate me; nothing that should make my head turn as I focus on a point. No vacation, 75 degree day full of sun, slice of sausage and pepperoni pizza, or great day of ministry should ever become the spring of my joy for there is no happiness here, no joy here. And my “longing” for heaven seems so tepid as I close my eyes to the painful sadness that walks with the mourning over the dead and the sting of the slap of rejection.
I shall leave this place. I shall say goodbye when He is ready to take me. And I will dance wildly at the thought and, finally, the reality that I will never cry again. But now there is only a dirge in the most minor key and no dance will brighten these scars.
Cruising back home after a satisfying day of work where I kept my mind pure and focused on the task at hand with the thought of returning home to my wife and sons….this is when I need to be reminded of the fact that I am not home yet. This world holds no happiness; nothing that should infatuate me; nothing that should make my head turn as I focus on a point. No vacation, 75 degree day full of sun, slice of sausage and pepperoni pizza, or great day of ministry should ever become the spring of my joy for there is no happiness here, no joy here. And my “longing” for heaven seems so tepid as I close my eyes to the painful sadness that walks with the mourning over the dead and the sting of the slap of rejection.
I shall leave this place. I shall say goodbye when He is ready to take me. And I will dance wildly at the thought and, finally, the reality that I will never cry again. But now there is only a dirge in the most minor key and no dance will brighten these scars.
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