I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes—I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me! Job 19:25–27 NIV
When I was younger, bedtime brought the opposite of rest and relief.
I spent countless nights staring at the ceiling and frozen in fear: from fear of the kidnapper who would come and carry me away in a sack and fear of lying in unnerving solitude and vulnerability to the unknown terrors of the dark.
Although my mind raced tirelessly in search of a way out, I never found an escape. Instead, I experienced hours of darkness before the morning came to demand energy from my empty tank. I just wanted to fall asleep. I wanted the night to end. I wanted the fear to stop squeezing my heart. I could do nothing to make those things happen.
One particularly brutal night, my frustration reached a boiling point. I banged my head against the teal-blue walls of my bedroom. I didn’t know what else to do with myself.
I imagine Job knew similar feelings of helplessness and despair. He was a man whose circumstances provide plenty of reason to give up. He fittingly felt tormented and crushed. Yet in his lament and underneath his wailing, we see evidence of not doom but deep, solid hope. He knows his end. He will see God.
Job asserts his hope in the middle of immense suffering. Something strikes me about the contrast—between the futility of our will and the assurance of our fate between the ugliness of the pain we now feel and the beauty of the God we will one day behold. The contrast is also between the transience of our skin and the permanence of our relationship with God. It points to something authentic, important, and wonderful beyond comprehension.
God covers and redeems us. He will reveal Himself to us. With our own eyes, we will see his pure, brilliant goodness. The sight will quench the thirst of our hearts and calm our panicked minds.
Despite darkness, senseless fear, and anguish, our hope stands untouchable. Nothing that happens to us on earth can jeopardize our future reunion with God. So we can endure the night. We can weather whatever sickness, disaster, or failure comes without giving up.
How can you cling to the assurance of your ultimate safety, satisfaction, and rest in God?
Hannah grew up thirty miles from the Alamo in a crazy house of five girls and one patient father. She studied business, non-profit, and social innovation at Texas A&M and graduated virtually in the year of masks and quarantine. Now, she works at First Presbyterian, Houston’s oldest church while she pursues a master’s degree from Dallas Theological Seminary. She is fascinated by the intersection of theology and emotions and enjoys the privilege of being trained to handle Scripture with integrity and search for its wisdom for understanding the human heart.
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