Yesterday (that is, on the day I’m writing this), I was walking alone in a lush forest, breathing in pristine air, listening only to the crunch of my own footsteps on autumn leaves and the distant waves crashing on a beach. As I veered toward the sound of the waves, the forest opened to a three-foot high ancient stone wall standing as a barrier before a 250-foot sheer drop to a rocky beach pressing against the edge of a widening sea. The clouds were morphing into spectacular forms and gilded by back-lit sunlight. I was overwhelmed by the beauty and was reduced to weeping.

This isn’t the first time that a beautiful natural setting has triggered free-flowing tears. I doubt it will be the last. This morning I spent a bit of time writing in my journal trying to analyze the reasons for such an over-the-top emotional response. I reflected on the fact that some of my emotions likely were prompted by the difference between my normal life and the place where I was walking. Regular life consists of full days — often scheduled months in advance — that include responsibilities that feel too weighty for my natural abilities. I live in a city full of car traffic and polluted air. The scenery on my walk contrasted starkly with anything I might encounter in the city. I admit that was part of it.

But I think it was only a very small part. I regularly thank God for the life he has given me: surrounded by lovely Christian people, including my oh-so-precious family — and having a strong sense of calling to teach, mentor, lead and write. The differences between the life I live in the greater Los Angeles area and the magnificent views I’ve experienced this past week in the highlands of northern Scotland — where I am even as I write today — are not sufficient to explain such an emotional outburst. Nor are they adequate to explain why such emotions frequently swell up in other beautiful settings.

This morning while ruminating on yesterday’s emotions, I decided — once again, since this is not the first time I’ve experienced or thought about this — that the most obvious font of my tears was a longing for the New Heavens and New Earth. I think that this deep inward yearning isn’t only for a place, even though I can’t wait to see what beauty we will behold, but to be with the One capable of and committed to creating such beauty.

I once heard someone muse that if God made this world in six days, with its stunning views, lofty mountains, and dizzying variety of “beasts of the field, birds of the heavens, and fish of the sea” (Psalm 8:7-8), but told his disciples that he was going away to prepare a place for them two thousand years ago (John 14:2-3), what must be waiting for us on the other side! Oh, to be there! — with him whose creativity and unfailing care are generating an eternal place of joy for his children. I feel the longings starting all over again. And the tears flow anew.

It turns out that I’m not alone in my longings. The whole creation — not just humans, but all of creation — experiences yearnings for what is yet to come. Notice these lines from Romans 8:19-23:

“For the creation waits with eager longing”

“in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God”

“the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now”

“we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies”

All creation groans for what is coming. This is true whether someone acknowledges the source and telos of whatever yearnings they feel. Those who think that their lives should always be happy will struggle to understand how faithful Christians can at the same time live within an enveloping peace that comes from union with Christ while also (sometimes) painfully longing for what is yet to come. (Unbelievers suppress the God-awareness implanted in them, Romans 1:18).

But for Christ-submitted Christians, longing for what is ahead crystalizes how to live life right now. We know that Jesus could return at any moment. We know that life in relation to eternity is short, even if we die before his return. We know that Jesus is preparing a place for us. Therefore, we live in expectation and watchfulness and readiness. We seek to serve faithfully so that Jesus will find us doing what he has called us to do on the day he returns (Luke 12:43).

I long for that. I yearn for that day — with all that’s in me. Yesterday was a brief, but welcome, reminder.

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