Unbalanced to unseen.

Ever since one of my friends suggested the possibility I’ve been keenly aware that one of my legs is longer than the other. It’s been a couple weeks now, and sometimes I just sit and wonder at not knowing for so long.

I mean, it’s my body. I should know if one of my legs is longer. One of my feet is bigger. One of my eyes is slightly bigger. My knuckles on that hand are bigger. It’s all on my right side, which could make sense since I’m right-handed.

It just threw me for a loop. I’d lived with having different sized feet and knuckles for a while, but finding out that I likely have been slightly tilted for my entire life was a different, much more fascinating story. Then my other friend said I might not have differently sized legs; no, my pelvis might just be misshapen.

I’m unbalanced. It’s okay. If I was J-Lo or Kim Kardashian, I would have surgery to make them the same length and get a nose job while I was at it.

For these light and momentary troubles are achieving for us a glory that will far outweigh them all.

This is light and momentary. It’s hardly even a trouble. My small physical asymmetry is incredibly light.

But stress isn’t light, life decisions aren’t light, grief isn’t light. Was Paul referring to all earthly trouble when he said that? Was he talking about loneliness and heartbreak? Was he referring to loss and regret?

Earlier in that passage (2 Corinthians 4), Paul says, Yes, we live under constant danger of death because we serve Jesus, so that the life of Jesus will be evident in our dying bodies. Gosh, Paul. That’s kind of big. But are your legs the same length?

So we live in the face of death, but this has resulted in eternal life for you. …That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever!

So, we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.

I just read the other day the part of 2 Corinthians where Paul talks about all he’s endured for the Gospel. It’s not light. It pretty much encompassed his entire life. But the hope of eternal life with God was enough to make it light. Not that it hurt less, but it meant less. It didn’t determine his future.

What is seen: racial tension, mass murders, exploitation, hints of good amid explosions of not-good, pieces of the Kingdom in the rubble of earth

What is unseen: History – a baby in a manger who grew up to bridge the gap between a God who loves and wants relationship and man who was unloving and didn’t know how much it needed that God, healing, light, life, reconciliation, peace, hope, joy.

The story stays fresh because it’s still relevant. It’s still central to our humanity that we’re broken and in need of someone to sort out our mess. We still need a humble Savior to lead the way.

I’m unbalanced. I’ve got iniquity in one hand paired with pain and grief. It weighs me down, but I cling with the other to my Father’s hand. As we walk, I start to drop my bad habits and painful memories.

For what is seen is temporary; what is unseen is eternal.

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