Under the Son

It's never done. Have you ever noticed that? My efforts to accomplish a task, call that person, take that drive, make someone smile, get over that issue, learn that new thing, read that book - all of them are curtailed by more things to do and become. I am constantly bombarded by an urgency to be productive while equally being overwhelmed by the urgency itself.

But work is such a lovely thing. It makes me strong; it teaches me patience; it creates in me a desire to create; it slows me; it reminds me that I am a servant and not a master. I imagine myself in the garden with Adam and Eve. I see the trees and flowers and bushes - all needing my attention. I sweat and I labor- but I do stop. And what I've sown is reaped in the most perfect way. I till the land and it is always more fertile. I prune a bush and it always blooms brighter and fuller. The harvest is always plentiful and satisfying. This is work as it was meant to be. And although the land is now cursed and I myself am cursed with a fallen nature, I still see God's beauty in work. When a man comes home after a day of work, exhausted, I smile to think that God blesses that. And when I see a mother, satisfied with a dizzying day of brooms, diapers, pots, pans, upset grocery clerks, crayons, bath tubs, dogs and car seats, it makes me smile to see how God blesses that.

When I think on what my work should look like within the circumstances God has given me, I think of Jesus. He said "It is finished". I am never finished. I am constantly in motion, waltzing around and around as I go about checking off my to-do list. Is it really possible for me to be finished? God has declared that it is! Christ has come and accomplished for me all that I could dream to do or become: He obtained my righteousness and sealed the victory of God over Satan. Yet, He has also given me so many tasks: to love, to give, to learn, to share, to tell. In the already-but-not-yet of living here on earth, I suppose I am called to trust in the already and labor in the not yet. I labor with the glorious hope and promise of rest.