“Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.” James 4:14

Everything seems ok right now, the bottom of the sky hasn’t fallen out. But I know that when it comes, it’s gonna get ugly.

Life is sometimes trudging, sometimes swimming, sometimes floating between islands of terror and tragedy.

Hurricanes and snipers. The slow starvation of the dispossessed. Broken hearts. Broken spirits. Broken marriages. Runaways and strays and day after day filled with small failures.

Yet, in it and somehow through it, He works. How do I know? It’s not as simple as, “I have faith,” though in my best times, I do. It isn’t as seemingly trite as, “the Bible tells me so,” but that is true (and it isn’t as trite as it might seem). It isn’t as easily dismissible as, “my parents or my preacher said it is true,” though they have and I trust them. It isn’t just wishful thinking, either, but it is a wish I share with Him when I remember to pray.

In part, it is in the fingers stuffed in bullet holes. It’s strangers being human shields. It’s in the Kingdom come, glimmering in soft words, and justice. But, it is also in the blessing of pain that pulls me and shapes me to be the key to the keyhole that opens one of many doors to many rooms in many mansions.

But, it is more than that. It is the other side of a door we’re al afraid to open. It is the tightness of His grip on time and space that tugs it like taffy and transcends the mire, pulls me from brokenness, and seals my own cracks with His glory.

In the end, I know He works, because the unseen God is with me. He somehow blesses all this mess with His own presence, and it can be felt and enjoyed.

And because, without knowing a thing about tomorrow, we have today, together.