Time and space bind our lives; we glimpse but a sliver of eternity. We begin, we live, we leave. Playing our part in an epic adventure, our perceptions are limited to our minute senses.
But there is One who holds it all together: By Whom, for Whom, and through Whom all is created. He alone knows the end from the beginning.
Vincent Van Gogh, afflicted by mental illness, died in 1890, his paintings scorned by the art establishment, never imagining his images would inspire millions to this day.
Rumi, a Persian poet, died in 1273, never guessing his work would be translated into languages all over the world and he would become the best selling poet in the United States in the 21st century.
Ruth, an obscure Moabitess, married Boez a thousand years before the birth of Jesus Christ. She died, never knowing her descendent David would be the King of Israel, nor, further down her geneology, that a baby would be born the Savior of the world.
I knew very little about the people who would receive this commissioned artwork. Only that they started a ministry and it unexpectedly drew to a close. But as a I prayed and asked the Lord for His perspective, I saw their work like seeds. Some they witnessed taking root, some they did not. But then, beyond their scope of observation, seeds produced more seeds, expanding far beyond their capacity to comprehend. And then I saw generations, flowing out in unending glory.
This I do know: our endings are but God’s beginning.