Ellen Chauvin | Soaked & Sprouting

Soaked in God's Word, Sprouting Seeds of Faith

Are You a Puzzle with One Missing Piece?

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Pudgy little hands slowly chose a colorful piece of cardboard.

“No, not that one. Not yet. We are looking for all the pieces that are straight on one side.”

Teaching my grandchildren the art of putting together a jigsaw puzzle (even a fifteen piece one) was fun! They couldn’t wait to see the finished picture. It was hard for them to imagine the end product would look just like the picture on the puzzle box.

Only, it didn’t. In the middle of the puzzle, there was a gaping hole. We were missing one piece. One last piece that would complete the whole. 

There was a hole in our whole.

Sigh.

Funny, that’s how my heart has been feeling these past several months. My sister passed away. My husband’s brother passed away. And scripture tells me that I won’t grieve as those with no hope. Only, it seems like that’s exactly how I have been grieving.

Oh, I have hope. But my grief did not end just because of the hope I have:

-Hope of salvation (1 Thessalonians 5:8)

-Hope of righteousness (Romans 5:1)

-Hope of eternal life (John 3:16)

-Hope of my eternal home that Jesus prepares for me (John 14:3)

-Hope of glory (Colossians 1:27)

Wait a minute. Glory? Me? I thought glory was reserved for the triune God. But…why not me? 

If Jesus has declared me righteous, why can’t I have glory?

Oh, it won’t be a glory like God has, that’s for sure! 

“The glory of God is what He is essentially; the glory of created things including man is what they are meant by God to be, though not yet perfectly attained.”⁠1

Now that’s something I can hold on to: hope of glory. What I am meant by God to be. The blissful perfection which is the inheritance of those who dwell with God in heaven. 

This is the missing piece of the puzzle. That one piece, when snapped into place, completes the whole, wiping away any empty spaces, longings, and the angst of not being complete. Jesus holds this piece of the puzzle. He will finish me, in due time. He will complete what He started (Philippians 1:6).

There is hope that one day the messiness of this earthly life – the sorrow, the tears and pain – will be completely and perfectly redeemed. That not only will there be no more tears and crying but the constant longing in my soul will be filled. I will know with complete clarity His purposes for me.

“God wanted to make known among the Gentiles the glorious wealth of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” Colossians 1:27 CSB

Christ in us IS our hope of glory. There is no hope but in Jesus⁠2. He fills all the empty places. What does this mean for our grief in the here and now?

It’s kind of like waiting for retirement. On my worst days, can I hang on? Can I endure? Yes, because I know retirement will be here soon. 

“For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever!” 2 Corinthians 4:17 NLT

This is the hope I can cling to now: that one day I will be complete and mature, lacking nothing, all my longings filled…with Jesus!

On earth, I am like a puzzle with one piece missing. 

The hole in my heart is not for those who are no longer with us. It’s for my completeness in Christ. I long for that day. Until then, I have Christ in me, hope of glory. Some of that glory, that completeness, will be filled here on earth, and will spill out in my life. But I won’t see the fullness of His filling this side of heaven. 

That’s okay. There is hope. One day…

Grace be with you,

 

 

 

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1 Zodhiates, S. (2000). The complete word study dictionary: New Testament (electronic ed.). Chattanooga, TN: AMG Publishers.

2 1 Timothy 1:1 Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus according to the commandment of God our Savior, and of Christ Jesus, who is our hope

(NASB)

Hope of Heaven in the Midst of Grief on Earth

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Surely this year will start off better than last year ended. That was my hope as January rolled around. Sadly, things just didn’t work out the way I hoped. It seems as if my family would be walking through another season of grief. Hard, gut wrenching grief.

“…that you may not grieve as others who have no hope…” 1 Thessalonians 4:13b (ESV)

Honestly, I’d like to have a talk with the apostle Paul about this verse. We don’t grieve as unbelievers? Really?

“Excuse me, Mr. Apostle Paul, but I disagree with this scripture! Cause let me tell you, I can ugly cry with the best of those with no hope. I snot cry and wail in pain because it hurts that my loved one is no longer here. I can’t talk to them, have dinner with them, I can’t hug or touch them. Not only that, tears run from my eyes, snot pours from my nose and spit drips out of my gaping mouth. Yeah, I grieve. Really ugly grief. So, help me with this verse, please Mr. Apostle Paul!”

Physically, I DO grieve as those without hope. Spiritually, the hope I have should make my grief more bearable. After all, my hope as a believer is in a resurrected body and eternal life and heaven. My hope is that one day I will see my loved ones again. They will be part of the great cloud of witnesses that I hope will greet me when I walk through heaven’s gates. But there’s one thing:

It’s so hard to wrap my brain around eternal life when I am grieving here on earth. 

My hope is in heaven. I know this earth is not my home. I know this. But I struggle to imagine the reality of heaven. I know it has streets of gold (Revelation 21:21), but I know nothing about being there with my loved ones. I cannot visualize this (and I am a visual person!).

More grief grips my heart when reality sets in.  Those I’ve loved are no longer here with me. I’m left behind without them.  They are home, safe and sound, like after a long trip. They can exhale and rest in eternal peace; all of us here on earth are still traveling.  They are worshipping at the feet of Jesus; we are merely playing our worship music. We’re not jealous of them. Not exactly. We’re just longing to be home with them.

One commentary I read explained it this way: We have hope of spending eternity with Jesus. Instead of thinking about heaven with all my loved ones, I need to focus on life with Jesus. I need to change my perspective. Again, though, it’s hard to wrap my brain around a glorious future with Jesus. What does that even look like? My eyes are cloudy from the tears of my grief. My perspective is cloudy. 

I believe, but I can’t see.

With sorrow after sorrow piled high, the thought of eternal life with Jesus doesn’t console me like it should. It doesn’t fill the hole left in my heart. 

Something’s missing…

(Join me next week, as I continue pondering the hope we have.)

Grace be with you,