I’ll Appreciate This Later

I was out and about a few days ago. After leaving a friend’s son’s ballgame, I stopped at a local grocery store for some lunch fixins’. I grabbed a bag of salad mix, a bell pepper, and some cheese and headed for cash register. As I stood there in line, a small candy display caught my eye. I threw a pack on top of my other groceries and paid the young lady. 

Once in the car on the way home, I rummaged through the plastic bag in search of the candy. I opened it and ate a few pieces. It was a new candy I hadn’t tried previously and it was good. It would’ve been easy to eat the entire pack. I didn’t and put the rest of it in my cup holder. I had a busy night ahead of me and knew coming back to that candy would be like a little reward, and I said to myself, “I’ll appreciate that later.” The spirit began to deal with me in that moment. 

You see, I’ve been in a transitional season here of late. A place where I don’t know which way to turn or which way to go. I’ve often wondered when it would be my turn. Have you ever been there? Where it seems you’re constantly working for the kingdom but none of it is reciprocated. You’re the one people call on when they need someone. You’re the one stepping out and praying for people. You’re a steady and consistent presence in the church. But when you need a helping hand, where is everyone? Who prays for you? Who seeks you out during a service to pray and uplift you? 

We understand some of this frustration is from the enemy. He works in isolation and being in a transitional season, there’s a lot of loneliness. That brings me back to the candy. Matther 6:19-22 says, “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven,  where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through or steal: for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” 

Everything you do for the kingdom of Heaven is like adding a brick to your mansion’s foundation. The obedience, the consistency, and the uplifting of others are things that may not always have an earthly reward. Everything you do for the kingdom of Heaven is like adding a brick to your mansion’s foundation. The obedience, the consistency, and the uplifting of others are things that may not always have an earthly reward. They don’t always come with applause, recognition, or someone stepping in when you’re tired and need relief. Sometimes they look like quiet faithfulness that goes unnoticed by everyone but the Lord. 

​That candy sat in my cup holder, untouched, while I went about the rest of my night. In that moment, it wasn’t that the candy didn’t matter, it was that I knew there was a better time coming to enjoy it. I trusted that delaying gratification would make it sweeter later. In the same way, God gently reminded me that the reward of what we do for Him is not meant to be consumed immediately. Some rewards are intentionally deferred. 

When we’re in seasons of transition, it’s tempting to want everything now. The affirmation, the breakthrough, the answered prayers, the feeling of being seen. But Jesus reminds us that what is stored in heaven cannot be stolen, forgotten, or diminished. Heaven keeps perfect record. Every prayer whispered when no one else is listening. Every tear wiped away in private. Every moment you showed up when you could’ve stayed home. One day, we will look back and realize that what felt like being overlooked was God helping us lay up something eternal. And when that day comes, when we finally take hold of what we chose to set aside, we’ll say with full understanding and gratitude, “I appreciate this now.”

Mary Knew

I died and went to heaven. 

I died and went to heaven and after seeing God in all His glorious magnitude I ran the glassy streets in search of Mary. 

I had so many questions and desired to spend some time with a woman of such high favor. 

I ran past the mansions and clear river that rushed through the city. 

I ran through the soft grass and under the tree of life, stopping for just a moment to take in its beautiful green leaves and long swaying branches. 

I ran along the Jasper wall, holding my hand out to caress its smooth surface as I quickly went by. 

I reached the bottom of a grassy knoll where children of all ages frolicked and played happily in this place of never-ending peace and safety. 

There, to left, resting on a bench, sat Mary. 

I had finally found her. 

She sat with her back straight and her hands placed peacefully in her lap. 

I stopped my running as to not startle her. 

When I reached the bench she noticed me, and with a smile said, “hello.” 

“Mary, Mary.” I began frantically. “I have so many questions for you.” 

Without saying a word, she patted the empty seat on the bench beside her. 

I sat slowly, still trying to comprehend that I’m here with her. 

In the presence of the one hand picked by God to bring salvation to Earth. 

She was here beside me and before I could stop myself, the questions I spent a lifetime pondering began flowing out in quick succession. 

“Mary. How did you deal with the scrutiny when you announced your pregnancy? 

Were there days when you stayed home because their words and looks were too much? 

What did Joseph think after hearing about your encounter with the angel? 

Was it cold in that barn stall? 

Were the animals loud and unfriendly? 

Was there so much pain that you almost gave up? 

How did it feel to hold your son in your arms for the first time? 

Did you count his fingers and his toes? 

Did the swaddling clothes keep him warm? 

When the shepherds came to worship him, what did you think about? 

When the wise men brought him gifts, did you think what will a baby do with these? 

Did he sleep good at night? 

Did you wake up to nurse him so many times that you wondered if you’d ever sleep again? 

How did it feel to hear his laughter in your house? 

Did he ever scrap his knees or cut his fingers? 

Did your heart break when he was 12 and you lost him in the temple, and you couldn’t find him anywhere? 

Did you know what his life would be when he reached adulthood? 

How many nights did you lie awake wondering where he was or if he had eaten? 

Were you proud of him when you heard of his miracles? 

Did you love his disciples like he loved them? 

Did you ever feel like they took him from you? 

Did you ever wonder why one of them betrayed him? 

Were you angry? 

Or did you know this is how it was supposed to be? 

How did it feel when they arrested him? 

Did you weep when they tore the flesh from his back? 

Did you wonder why everyone seemed to forget all the good he did? 

How did it feel to see your sweet baby boy nailed to a cross? 

Was he recognizable to you covered in blood? 

Did you think about that night in the barn when he was covered in your blood crying in your arms? 

Did you feel helpless because you couldn’t wrap in rags and comfort his pain away this time? 

Did you fall at his feet when the crowd left him there to die? 

Are these the things you pondered in your heart, Mary? 

Surely the Lord prepared you for all these things, right?

Did you know these things were coming?” 

Once I stopped talking, and there was no sound but the children playing in front of us, Mary placed her hand on mine. 

“I spend most of my time here.” She began, gesturing toward the children. “It reminds of Him when he was young. Running freely, no cares or worries. The weight of heavenly things far in the future. When I knew he was safe from all the bad things he would soon endure. You see, I didn’t get a lot of time with him. He began his mission that day in the temple.” 

She pauses, remembering the heartache. 

“He was my son, too. I got to keep him for just over thirty years, but it felt much shorter.” 

The children played just ahead of us as the birds chirped and light from the throne shone around us like the sun. 

Mary turned to me and if tears were allowed in this place, I am sure they would have filled her eyes.  

I could almost see the memories playing through them as she looked directly into mine. 

Mary drew a slow breath. Like she’d been holding her breath for centuries.
“But yes,” she said calmly. “I knew.”

She did not look at me as she spoke. 

She focused on the children as they laughed and played the sound of their joy spilled onto the grass like honey.
“The angel told me some, as you know.” she continued. “Not any details, but what it would cost me. I knew my joy would be twain with sorrow. I knew my yes would pierce me; Siemion told me so that day in the temple. I knew that every miracle He performed was a steppingstone toward Golgotha.”

She finally turned to face me then, and her voice steady.
“I knew when I held Him for the first time that I would lose Him in ways no mother should lose their child. I knew when His tiny hands rapped around my fingers that one day nails would pierce them. I knew when I wrapped Him in cloth that night in the barn, my hands would be empty again as I sat at the foot of the cross. When he would cry, I knew the world would one day cry for His blood.” 

She placed her hand over her heart. As if trying to protect it post factum.
“How else could I have endured such things, had I not known?” she said. “Knowing only made me love him more. I loved Him as my son, even when I released Him as my Savior.”

As she spoke, footsteps approached us from behind. Soft, not in a hurry. 

They were familiar and full of peace.
Mary’s face softened before she even turned around.

There He was standing before us. My eyes went to His scars, visible yet radiant. 

His eyes filled with eternity and boyhood. 

He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched, as I am sure they had many times long ago. She did not speak his name. She didn’t have to.
She leaned into Him, and He leaned back.

And in that moment, I understood.
She had known what would befall her Son.
And He had known His Mother would endure it.

And heaven, it seemed, had made room for both of those truths to finally rest.