Sometimes I find myself waiting for Vance to come home.
It really doesn’t make any sense. I mean, I know he’s not coming home. I know he died. I was at the funeral. I have stood at his grave many, many times.
Yet, somehow, I can be thinking about him being gone and simultaneously find myself wondering how long it will be until he walks through the door. Change is hard, folks.
It’s a weird thing, this knowing but not knowing. This false hope that sometimes arises, unbidden. Unwanted. Because once the falseness of the hope is realized, it becomes an unfathomable weight. It drags me under and refuses to let me breathe. When the hope leaves, I am once again left gasping for air. That is not a feeling I treasure.
Thankfully, it is not the only hope that I have.
Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.I Thessalonians 4:13-14
My real hope lies in Heaven. That as a believer in Christ, I am assured of eternity with not only Vance, but with the Creator himself. This is not a false hope. It is not one that binds me to the bottom of the sea. This hope bids me to stare the ocean in the face and know I will not be drowned by its enormity. That as big as the waves are, they are nothing compared to the one they obey when he whispers, “Be still.”