“We were never made for heaven. Our bodies, formed of dust, were always intended for a life on earth. This world is our home. The great promise has always been not that we would go to live with God, but that God would come to make his home with us.”
When I read these words in Seth Haines’ recent Tiny Letter, this idea resonated with me. I love this shift in thinking from going to heaven to bringing the reconciled kingdom of God to earth, to restoring the idea of perfection right here.
As we remember the Easter resurrection and the promise of a restored earth, I find myself seeing glimpses of this new earth – this idea of making our home here, in this creation more and more. As I intentionally look for it, I see God coming to make his home with us.
Last week, Denver was hit with a huge blizzard. March is normally our snowiest month, giving us dense, wet snow that quickly melts. On Wednesday, it was clear that this snow was bigger. Daisy and Bea, who love to tramp around in the backyard on snowy days, stayed inside. We had tons of screen time, hot chocolate, and lounging. When the snow let up in the late afternoon, we made the long trek across the street for cookie baking with our neighbors. Bea got stuck in our driveway, so I plowed ahead, dropped Elle into our neighbor’s arms and went back for Bea.
At around 5:00, as people made it home from work, the sun peeped out and people headed outside to shovel. Shoveling spring snow isn’t my favorite – it’s heavy and slow going. But, it’s also rewarding – the sidewalk clears quickly and by the next day, the sun has dried the pavement. It’s also a time of community. Because it’s light out later, we gathered and shoveled and waved and were in the drifts together. One neighbor recently had surgery, so others gathered to shovel his drive.
After a day of being housebound, the reminder of community was so cool to watch. God seemed present in the snow shoveling, in the gathering and caring for neighbors, in the heavy spring snow that soaks into the soil.
It’s a small thing, shoveling snow with neighbors. But it’s a big thing, too, remembering that even wet spring snow is a glimpse of a restored earth.
How are you on the lookout for those small-but-big moments of finding community and restoration?