A man’s child was dying. He was desperate, and he knew that only one person could possibly save his son. The father traveled 16 miles by foot, and found Jesus in the little town of Cana in Galillee. He begged Jesus to heal his son, and Jesus did. Jesus spoke, “Your son lives,” and at exactly that hour the boy was healed. This is the second sign Jesus performed.
It doesn’t matter what you believe will happen to this world in the end. Maybe you believe God will destroy the earth, or maybe you believe God will restore the earth.* Really, it doesn’t matter.
I don’t want to talk about the dispensation or tribulation or Revelation or any version of millennialism. I don’t care about your political affiliation, whether you’re a democrat, a republican or a libertarian.
Looking back, I’m not sure how I survived the baby years. I’m just coming out of the throes of 24/7 parenting after five years of caring for babies. My youngest is 18-months-old and all of the baby gear is officially gone. There are no more swaddles or swings, bouncers or binkis. There is just one item I’m hanging on to, because the sleep and sanity of our family depends on it. Each and every one of our babies required a sound machine to fall asleep at night. The crackling static, like a radio dial between stations, signals my brain that the day is winding down.
One morning Jeff got up early and headed to class. We had only been married a few short weeks, and I was already discontent with the once romanticized state of (relative) poverty that is accustomed to newlywed life. I despised that I would walk into our bedroom at night, and my socks would slip and slide on the hardwood floors. There was no way we would ever be able to afford a rug. Or a dresser. Or a nightstand. We had a 15 year old mattress, and a lamp leftover from my college dorm. It sat on the floor next to the bed.
I found an old table, constructed from repurposed wood. It is a collection of old porch posts, and boards ripped off of the side of a dilapidated barn. The wood was battered and bruised. The boards were slapped on top of the posts, and the hodgepodge of firewood became something that roughly resembled a table.
The idea for this blog has been brewing in my head for about six years. That's when I purchased the domain. The concept, sustainable theology, was inspired by Chicago, cows, creation and preparing for childbirth. For the first time in my life, I was starting to see the story God was writing, and I realized I was a teeny, tiny, minor character in the greater narrative. I was beginning to see that my story mattered, and I was capable of living a great one!