Transformation: the Reveal & the Reality
I must confess, since my temporary move to Tampa, I’ve watched an inordinate amount of HGTV. It’s the perfect channel to have on in the background while catching up on email, folding laundry, or snoozing while the kids nap. A lot of my favorite shows revolve around the transformation of a space from someplace drab and uninviting to someplace stunning. I love the beginning and the end of these shows. The beginning illuminates just how badly the space is in need of a revamp, and the end reveals the space in all of its sparkling newness. The in between? Honestly, I could care less. That’s my productivity time (be that sleep productivity or correspondence productivity). If it were up to me, I would fast forward through that middle part of hammering and affixing and measuring and cleaning.
I think there is something inherent in us as a human race that makes us love all things new, and despise deterioration. It’s as if we knew things were intended to last–to last in an incorruptible state–and so the constant decay that surrounds us is frustrating at some moments, and downright heart-breaking at others. We are longing for a newness that lingers, but in the absence of that we seek to satisfy ourselves with a constant changing parade of the latest and the greatest.
Not only do we crave newness externally, but also internally. There are portions of our interior landscapes that we would love to see transformed and updated and polished. The only problem is, at least in my case, we’re looking for the reveal rather than the workshop. We forget that transformation is rarely instantaneous, and never without a great deal of labor. You may not be the one laboring…it may be an HGTV crew moved in for the month…but the work must be done. And despite the facade of ease and rapidity put up by a thirty minute program, this work is dirty, intense, and wrought with hiccups. And even when the remodel is done, when the hammers are laid to rest, and the last dish is put in the cupboard, the work is still not done. If the beauty of the transformation is to remain, there will be a need for constant cleaning, small repairs, and eventual big ticket item replacements. That’s the nature of this world; there is no arrival, no parking, no remaining in the reveal. The cameras roll away and decay immediately begins to set in unless there is constant vigilance to work against it. And even with that vigilance, replacement will one day once again become necessary.
Here is the wondrous promise of the gospel: those inward landscapes can be transformed just as dramatically as that kitchen from the sixties. And this transformation is not left alone to our clumsy and inexperienced hands. However, just as on the exterior, this transformation will be wrought over great time and with great labor. Things will often look worse before they begin to look better. There are walls that must be torn down. Nails that must be ripped out and nails that must be driven in. Occasionally, though, we are given encouraging and blessed moments of revelation–a glimpse at a heart miraculously changed. But if we plop down and declare the work is done, if we fail to recognize the maintenance that comes with that newness, decay will set in here as well.
Lately, I’ve needed this lesson from HGTV. You see, during the past six years in China, there has been some major internal construction going on. Moving thousands of miles away from all that’s familiar will do that to you. This past year, amidst the challenges and trials, there have been revealing moments where I’ve been given glimpses of firmer foundations laid and repairs made. Those moments have been incredibly encouraging. To be honest, though, in contemplating my return to the States, I was expecting a time out from the construction. A break from living in the middle of dust and holes and scattered nails that prick you unexpectedly when you’re not watching your step. After all the work of the past six years, surely I deserved a break to just sit back and admire the work that had been done. So when I got back to America, and walls immediately began to be torn down once again, I was a little disheartened. But then I heard the voice of the Carpenter whisper with both comfort and conviction, you’re not done yet.
One day, one glorious day, all will be made permanently new. And until that day, we press on, knowing that this is one renovation project whose ultimate reveal will be well worth all the labor.
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. ~Romans 8:18-25
I loved the post… but how you ended it was even better. Even though I randomly came across your blog I am glad I did. Something about reading the post just now did it for me. Thanks.