Come, Lord Jesus

Sometimes life just really sucks.

There.

I said it.

I could probably find a prettier way to write that.

Something about difficult seasons.

Or valleys.

Or storms that eventually pass.

But sometimes I think we rush so quickly to make suffering sound beautiful that we forget Scripture never asks us to pretend this world isn’t broken.

It is.

People hurt each other.

Bodies fail.

Families break.

Children suffer.

People we love die.

Terrible things happen to people who did nothing to deserve them.

We pray prayers that seem to go unanswered.

We watch things happen that make absolutely no sense.

And sometimes I don’t want another explanation for why.

I just want Jesus to come back.

I want Him to make right everything we have spent generations breaking.

I want the world Revelation describes.

No more death.

No more mourning.

No more crying.

No more pain.

No more wondering why God allowed something.

No more trying to find meaning in something that simply hurts.

Just Jesus.

Maybe that sounds dramatic.

I don’t think it is.

I think sometimes we’ve become so determined to find beauty in this life that we’ve forgotten Christianity gives us permission to admit that this world is not as it should be.

There is beauty here.

So much of it.

There are people I love fiercely.

There are ordinary days I wish I could keep forever.

There is laughter and wonder and goodness and evidence of God everywhere I look.

But none of that changes the fact that creation itself is groaning.

And if I’m honest…

some days I am, too.

Maybe that’s why the promise of Jesus returning means more to me now than it once did.

When I was younger, heaven felt far away.

Something to think about someday.

Now?

I understand the longing a little more.

Not because I don’t love this life.

But because I’ve lived enough of it to know it cannot save us.

No amount of success can.

No relationship can.

No perfectly constructed life can.

We need Jesus.

We have always needed Jesus.

And one day, He is coming back.

One day, everything broken will finally be made right.

Until then, we love.

We serve.

We laugh.

We raise our children.

We notice the beauty.

We keep showing up.

We keep believing.

But we don’t confuse the glimpses of goodness here with the fullness of what we’ve been promised.

This isn’t home in its finished form.

So on the days when the weight of this world feels particularly heavy, maybe the most faithful prayer isn’t always a beautiful one.

Maybe sometimes it’s simply:

Come, Lord Jesus.

Please.

Come.


“He who testifies to these things says, ‘Yes, I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”

— Revelation 22:20 (NIV)

The Race I Thought I Was Running

For a long time, I lived as though life was a race.

A race to accomplish more.

To become more.

To get there first.

To catch up.

To stay ahead.

To prove something.

And if I’m honest, I didn’t even realize I was running.

I just assumed that’s what everyone was doing.

Then I started paying closer attention to Scripture.

Paul tells us to run the race.

But he never tells us to race each other.

Somewhere along the way, I confused the two.

I measured my life against other people’s timelines.

Their opportunities.

Their marriages.

Their highlights.

No wonder I was tired.

I wasn’t just running.

I was competing.

You can’t faithfully run your race while constantly looking sideways at someone else’s.

Hebrews tells us to:

“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us…”

That phrase stopped me.

The race marked out for us.

Not the race I wish I had.

Not the race someone else is running.

Not the race culture says I should be winning.

The one God marked out for me.

Maybe faithfulness has never been about finishing first.

Maybe it has always been about staying the course.

About keeping my eyes on Christ instead of constantly looking over my shoulder.

I’ve started wondering how much peace we would find if we stopped asking,

“Am I keeping up?”

and started asking,

“Am I being faithful?”

Because one question breeds comparison.

The other invites contentment.

The race was never about beating the person beside us.

It has always been about following the One in front of us.

Maybe the finish line was never the goal.

Faithfulness was.


“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”

— Hebrews 12:1–2 (NIV)