Looking at Life Through the Lens of Eternity
This post originally appeared on Tiffany Nardoni's blog here.
“Begin with the end in mind.”
“Live like you were dying.”
“Love like there’s no tomorrow.”
Common phrases that point to a kingdom perspective.
I dare say #heavenmeetsearth when the lens of eternity changes our daily tasks. Jesus shows up to remind us His calling, His death, and His resurrection was for us. His time on this earth (when Heaven came to Earth) was for something so much greater. It changed the course of humanity and gave us access to the Father.
In September of 2016, I received a new lens for which I would have never signed up or requested. My two-and-a-half year-old son was diagnosed with a rare, genetic disease known as Hunter Syndrome or MPS II. The hilarious, fun-loving toddler who had a few mild and fairly typical developmental delays suddenly had a death sentence over his head, and one that promised to be slow and painstakingly drawn out. Boys with Hunter Syndrome typically develop normally until between ages 2 and 5, and then begin regressing both physically and cognitively. Talking, walking, and eating slowly fade away and most do not live through their teen years. And just like that, I had an eternal lens.
The story I did not want but am now living is my #heavenmeetsearth journey. My son’s body is lacking a particular enzyme he needs to breakdown certain molecules. The accumulation will lead to progressive, degenerative damage to his entire body. For now, he’s an active two year-old. He loves fiercely, and his laugh is infectious. As he cruises across the backyard in the cozy coup, I ponder how he’ll never drive a car. As he rocks the baby dolls to sleep, a lump in my throat forms thinking he’ll never be a father. As he hugs his sisters, I feel sick to my stomach knowing his days will be fewer than theirs. I could wallow in the sadness. I could let the darkness take over. And sometimes I do. Or I can let the Lord meet me in the darkness of those moments. He whispers, “My glory will be revealed and all mankind together will see it” (Isaiah 40:3). He reminds me we are not made for this world. We are all dying and in need of a Savior. Our broken bodies are longing for our lost Eden.
The new lens of earthly brokenness and the yearning for Heaven brings intentionality. This lens, by default, sets my mind on things above. I am reminded He is present. I am reminded I myself need to be present. By His grace, I am learning to slow down and to soak in this sweet, fleeting life He’s given me. Conversations and relationships change. The frivolous seems more frivolous. Loving others seems more like a marching order. He has given me a unique sensitivity for others’ pain and darkness. It is tempting to focus on our own pain right now, but I know His plans are great. Finn’s earthly time is made for so much more. I cling to the Hope of what is to come, not the fear of what will be lost.
Gradually (and fearfully at times), I am leaning in to the places He’s calling my family. My husband and I will soon launch a campaign in an attempt to raise the remaining funds needed for a clinical trial - one that could cure this terrible disease. The amount needed seems overwhelming, but we are praying and trusting. We are stepping out boldly with our new #heavenmeetsearth lens. We are confident in the One who is the Cure. We will fight for an earthly cure to bring Hope to the ones who have not yet met the Eternal Cure, our faithful Healer. For we know without the lens of eternity, the darkness is too dark.