Maranatha

I've always loved the word "Maranatha".  It has such a beautiful flow to it, and it just sounds so rich.  I've never really been able to use it, though.  I've never liked what it means.

"Come, O Lord."

I've never quite been ready to say that.  I like my life.  I always have.  Sure, there have been super hard parts - things I would much, much rather do without.  There were days in junior high that I thought I'd be better off dead.  I have a lot of memories I wish I didn't have.  I've cried more tears than I hope to ever cry again.  I've held people in pain both in their hearts and in their bodies.  But none of it has ever been bad enough that I would wish for this life to end and the New Life to begin.

I know I should want that.  I know my hope should be in the soon return of Christ, but I just have too much to look forward to.

I wanted to get married.  I wanted to have kids.  I want to see my kids grow up.  I want to see my family members come to know the Lord.

But finally today I said "Maranatha" and I meant it.

My friends hurt.  They hurt in ways people should never have to hurt.  They hurt in ways that I have lived my whole life dreading that I, myself, would hurt, and there is nothing I can do to fix it.  Why?  Because this world is broken.  That's just the way it is.  And until Christ comes again, this world can never be right. 

I'm out of tears tonight.  My prayers are starting to repeat themselves.  I still can't fix the pain in my dear friends' hearts.  And more than ever before in my life, my heart yearns for things to be right.

Come, O Lord.  Maranatha.