In light of a recent revelation I had to know and understand the book of Hebrews better, combined with a 100-day goal plan I’m participating in with a couple of friends, I’m studying (mostly) exclusively the 13 chapters of Hebrews and reflecting on each chapter for the upcoming 13 weeks on this blog.

“The Earth and sky will wear out, but not you, they become threadbare like an old coat, You’ll fold them up like a worn-out cloak, and lay them on the shelf; But you’ll stay the same, year after year; you’ll never fade, you’ll never wear out.”

Hebrews 1:11-12

It’s a daily task to remember this life–the Earth and the course of time we live on it–is so fleeting. Both delicate and volatile. Almost laughably temporary, when I consider how urgently we strive for material stuff, and how desperately we pine for significance in our passing, fading nano-blips of time on the immeasurable eternal scheme.

I envy others’ social, financial or vocational success. I’m terrified of the (my) world’s rejection. I obsess over what I want most, probably: to live out the rest of my life without a marriage partner who shares a wild, unwavering love for me as I do for her. I psuedo-panic over the political and economic institutions built on rapidly-disintegrating ground.

Like (what remains of) my three year-old favorite blue jeans, all of these things I stew over will one day wear out. Ultimately, these things don’t matter. They aren’t eternal, no matter how real they are in my head or visibly before me this very moment. The cool things I want to own; the accolades and recognition I’d long to have; the moments I look forward to–if only for an applaudable social media post–will fade into dark, eternal irrelevance.

Probably sooner than I even think.

So I go back to that recurring image in my head of how I imagine Christ literally walking the earth. How he knew the temporary-ness of everything he experienced–even his impending, horrifying death. It wasn’t forever. It was very real, but it wasn’t eternal. Nothing was, except for his glory and authority in the seat right next to heaven’s Majesty. As Christ walked out his ministry with his eyes unfathomably fixed to his execution stake, that would serve as a means to save God’s children, He maintained a focus on what was eternal. It wasn’t in this person’s acceptance to the left or a tantalizing moment of sexual pleasure to the right. Again, all real. But–He knew–not as real as eternal glory and victory over death right next to the ruler of the universe.

Father, what freedom there is in having eyes to see the truth of what is eternal over what we see on earth as “real.” To live with these eyes fixed on unending heavenly glory rather than petty reality as I know it on earth. Just as your Son did. Thank you for your furiously jealous superiority that claims final victory, while it gently, patiently and compassionately holds me up as I stumble through (and overcome!) the difficult, temporary–real–battles within my heart.