And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

From early childhood until my late 20s, no one had seen me cry except my mother, and even she didn’t see it that often. It wasn’t until the bottom fell out of my life that I started crying and couldn’t stop. In fact, I ended up in a psychiatric hospital because of just that. All the things I’d worked for, all the hopes I held for my life – over three years and countless failed treatments, they all dissipated like smoke on a breeze. Anybody who knows my story, though, knows that it wasn’t until the smoke cleared that I could see my life for what it was: lonely, fearful, and utterly unsatisfying.

God cannot make new what clings to the old, and in my case, he decided the “rip the band-aid off” strategy would work best. Whether he tore that old life away or allowed it to be so, I don’t know, but either way I thank him every day for it. He can’t, after all, wipe away tears I refuse to cry. Why all this talk about crying? Well, I’m currently at an Advent Retreat in the beautiful mountains of Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and that seems like what we’re supposed to do here: cry in overwhelming gratitude at the greatness of our Lord. My good friend – and one of the retreat leaders – even made me a special handkerchief for the occasion.

If you can’t tell yet, though, I’m not crying. Because we are learning this weekend about the end times, the second Advent, and my favorite book of the Bible is Revelation. Because it is joyously refreshing to hear that other people end their prayers with Revelation 22:20, too: Come, Lord Jesus! Because wouldn’t it be amazing to see Jesus return as we studied his parable of the ten bridesmaids in Matthew 25:1-13?

Ok, maybe I cried a little, but how could you not? I know I am not the only one who is feeling the pain of aging, of painful joints and dashed hopes, of failed relationships and lost jobs. We all hurt, but not all of us wait. Our retreat leaders have been urging us, wait, be ready, the return of the king is at hand! (And an aside about how different this retreat is: how many ultra-Christian-y women’s retreats show clips from The Lord of the Rings?) What if we lived with Revelation 21 in our hearts, with the promise of all things made new a solid reality in our minds? Life would still hurt, but it would be that very pain that points us to its cure. He is coming, and so we wait. He is coming, and so we hope. Come, trim your wick, and wait with me. The king is coming for us, and he is coming soon.

Come, Lord Jesus!