Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The Upper Room

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I’ve felt such a heaviness for the past few days, and I can’t for the life of me pinpoint why. I think that’s the worst part of it. To feel downtrodden even when from the outside in things look good. To be unable to name the reason for melancholy, it makes it all the more absurd. An unwelcome visitor to your happy home. I wonder if it will always be this way, while I exist in this body? Separated from joy that is so close I can taste it.

For a few days I’ve wanted to write something about the upper room. It’s been dancing on the periphery of my brain, waiting to be put down into words, yet unwilling to escape from the mental chamber keeping it captive. How could I speak of Heavenly things when my heart felt pushed into the dirty earth? Still feeling captive to my flesh, I knew I needed to write it anyway, if only to show myself I could.

I find it no coincidence that in Luke 22 Jesus plans the Passover meal venue, the upper room, and just prior to that, in Chapter 21, He says this.

Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with the anxieties of life, and that day will close on you suddenly like a trap.

It’s so easy to forget that there’s more for us than next month’s work schedule or a pending dental appointment for the children. Before you know it you’re focusing on the bank balance versus the pending bill stack, or you’re questioning the commitments you’ve plotted in your calendar. You find yourself worrying about the virus the household keeps passing around, or replaying that thing you said to so-and-so, that ridiculous comment you wish you could stuff back into your stupid, gaping mouth. We busy our thoughts with if it’s time to wash the linen, or what theme we should plan for the youngest child’s birthday party. We never once contemplate the upper room.

He has prepared a place. He’s gone ahead of us and made arrangements. A banquet is coming, the likes of which we have never seen, yet we busy ourselves with plans akin to dining at Burger King. The Lord is setting the table for a grand feast, and we are somehow content to catch the scraps of the world where we wait. We forget all about the upper room.

It’s like we have an invitation sitting on our bar. It’s mixed in with grocery store flyers, an exorbitant utility bill, and one of those card stock advertisements with a fake, brand new car key attached. It’s addressed in gold letters, sealed with a blood red stamp, and it’s just waiting to be opened. Each and every day we pass it by. It’s left unopened, forgotten, pushed to the bottom of a stack meant for the trash.

We pass it by in favor of our favorite Netflix series, or rushing to the kitchen table to argue angrily over homework, pressing a dry kiss and sideways hello to our spouse. Tired, worn thin and wore out. We pass the invitation for rest, and we pass it in favor of rush and hurry. We run towards the things of this world that are here today and gone tomorrow.

Have you noticed the things of this world bring us a heap of stress, yet we pursue them with vigor? We think, if only I can hit the deadline. If only I can pay this debt. I just gotta get the kids through school and get this mortgage paid down. Then, maybe things will settle down.

We’re always in eager anticipation, expecting a future of better things. We’re hoping in a time when we won’t struggle so much. We’re waiting for a time when we won’t be so tired, when finances won’t be so tight, or when raising kids will get easier. We cling to dreams of a brighter future with less stress and more bless. We trudge through our season, weary and wondering when we’ll find our better day. We pass by the dusty, forgotten invitation.

There has to be a better way! That’s what we say. It shouldn’t be this hard! We buy self help books, seek advice from a counselor, maybe even beg that lady on Oprah Winfrey’s channel to fix our life! We forget all about the upper room.

Here’s the secret. Here’s the thing we all forget. We don’t have to wait until the feast begins to partake of the hors d’oeuvres. He is preparing the banquet table, but until it’s time to be seated, we can remember that we already have a place set with our names on it. The best five star restaurant in NYC doesn’t compare, and even better, the worst dinner party we throw doesn’t matter. It all falls flat when set beside the upper room.

The invitation that awaits, it’s one that requires our RSVP, and by accepting our individual place of honor, we agree to walk out each day with an air of importance. We can pass through each day throwing off the anxiety of a fading world that falsely vies for our attention, and instead we can say, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to a party. I can’t be bothered by that at the moment. My mind is on the upper room.”

In my time of heaviness the past few days, I am reminded to hold tightly to my invitation. It promises a wonderful feast. I don’t have to falsely hope for better days here on earth. Instead I can know in my heart that better days will come. I can walk each moment, even as my flesh and heart may fail, in joy, knowing that I am a special guest, and a special seat waits for me. Nothing much matters compared to that. He’s preparing a place.

Children get sick and the truck needs new tires, but He’s preparing a place. I feel heavy, sometimes for no reason at all, but I am invited. The world could hate me, but I’d still be invited. Karen could roll her eyes in my direction, and the whole table could talk about me after I walk away. It doesn’t matter. My Father has set a place for me at His table. Bye, Felicia.

But seriously. All the ridiculous things that try to pull me away. The unimportant tasks that try to overwhelm me. The minuscule happenings that attempt to shake me. The inconveniences that mar my day, or the mistakes that make up my past… they can’t hold a candle to what lies ahead. The upper room.

Lord, when my mind wanders to places it doesn’t need to go, remind me of the upper room. When I place my hope in anything other than you, remind me of the upper room. When I’m hurting, remind me of the upper room. When I’m happy and everything is peachy, remind me of the upper room. When I put too much stock in this fast food life, remind me of the banquet you have lavishly prepared. May I never forget the invitation that requires my focus even now. Keep my thoughts always on the upper room. I know that at your table I will never thirst, and most importantly, I will be filled.

If My Mother Was Still Alive

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If my mother was still alive she’d be turning sixty-five years old today. As a middle aged woman of forty-two, myself, that seems so young. Since I’ve started living an RV lifestyle I am surrounded by men and women decades older, who are full of life and vigor. It doesn’t seem fair sometimes that a woman who loved life so much is gone. It doesn’t seem right that a lady who desired grandchildren so intensely passed away before she met even one of (now) seven grandkids. Most of the time, I just try not to think about it.

Have you ever had someone in your life become someone else? What I mean is, they change. One day you’re close, the next day, not so much. It’s usually some huge event that fosters change, but sometimes, I guess, people just evolve. They become someone new, and that someone doesn’t fit into your life anymore. It’s almost like they died, like they dropped off the face of the earth. Or even if you do speak, it seems like such a foreign conversation.

You ask yourself, who is this person?!

It’s happened to me before. Someone I love dearly moves on to a new life, with new friends, new hobbies, new interests, and it feels like the person I once held so dear is no more. Except for the moments.

I’ve discovered, in my own personal experience that you are sometimes given glimpses, or precious moments of time where the old personality of your friend or loved one emerges, even if just briefly. Just such a moment occurred for me recently, and afterwards I joyfully shared it with my spouse.

“Do you know what I wouldn’t give to have a moment like that with Mom?” I asked my husband.

As we spoke I explained to my husband that while it could make me sad to lose a relationship through distance or time, that when it was reunited it was even sweeter than before. Though the relationship I had once known was gone, those spectacular glimpses into our prior connection were a treasure. And though they were far and few in-between, they still were wonderful. Like a breath of a sweet fragrance your memory had locked away for safe keeping.

If my mother was still alive today I would cherish each second with her for the fleeting time it was. Because now I realize that even one, five minute, phone conversation would be like Christmas morning. Even one hug, one glimpse of her smile, one sound of her raucous laughter, that would be the biggest thing for me. One small encounter would mean the world. One smell of her perfume, one minute of advice, one session with her gentle, listening ear. What I wouldn’t do for that one moment of time!

I wish I could buy her a birthday card today, but even more, that I could watch her read it. I would scour the card aisle, reading every one, and even then I know it wouldn’t get close to conveying how much I loved her, missed her, needed to see her face. But I sure would love the opportunity to try and see.

I wish she could meet the girls. I would let them visit whenever she asked, and I wouldn’t complain when she spoiled them! I’d laugh about how ridiculous they acted when they came back home hopped up on sugar and leniency. I promise I would.

I would listen to her say, “you did that exact thing when you were little!”

In fact, I yearn to hear her say that. After all, she was the only one who knew those things.

Did I learn to crawl first or cruise?

Was I easy to potty train?

Surely I wasn’t as persistent as my second child is, or as independent as the third!

What do you think, Mom?

I think that if my Mom was still alive I could finally pick up the phone and tell her what’s on my mind, instead of intending to call for a split second, before sadly remembering I cannot.

I would ask her advice. I would share how wonderful life has gotten over the last ten years, even though she hasn’t been a part of it, and I’d let her know that’s the only piece missing. Her.

As it stands, I long for forever, to not have to wish for mere moments, but to enjoy timeless togetherness. For that will be a fine day indeed. But until that day I’ll enjoy every morsel of each one that exists for me here on earth. I’ll savor the moments that pass too quickly and fade into memories before your very eyes. I’ll enjoy every smile, every laugh, each and every one. I’ll cherish my relationships, my family, and all the in between.

Why You Should Stop Yearning for Heaven

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You get up early, after staying up late, and you drive to a job that is much the same today as it was the day before. You drudge through traffic, rush through the work day, and attempt to soak up the quickly passing afternoon hours in between. You look forward to the weekend that goes by far too fast, and you do it day in and day out. Countdown to vacation. T minus 89.

You work long hours and long days for the things you can look forward to, like a cruise, the kid’s birthday bash, Christmas, and one day, retirement. You get through the muck to get to the luck. You trudge through the mundane to get to the merry. You hurry through today to get to tomorrow. Such is life.

Colicky babies will surely grow out of it. The terrible twos shall soon pass. One day the needy child will be able to do for themselves. Messy teens will move on. This hard phase of life will get better. You just have to get past it.

You daydream for better days. You beg the clock to hurry. Christians cry out to the Lord, “come quickly! Save me from this strife!”

Believers look fondly forward to a place of no more pain. This is understandable. After all, who doesn’t long to look onto loved ones who have gone before us? Don’t we all yearn for a life without disease, hardship, and most importantly, hate? Yes. Of course. But what do we miss on our journey to Heaven? As a Christian, it is your final destination. My only question would be, do you enjoy the ride?

In everyday life we anticipate what’s next. It’s The American Way. We drive right past the breathtaking sunrise on our way to a workday we’re whittling past for a weekend that won’t go slow enough. In this world we do have trouble, and I wish it wasn’t so. But we also have wonderful.

In the hectic life of a busy mother a baby smiles their very first smile. There will never be a very first smile again. Did she miss it?

An eight year old boy will ask his dad to play catch on a windy, autumn afternoon. In a rush to get homework done and the leaves raked before the upcoming Saturday barbecue, the moment will pass. No one will even realize it’s gone.

The chance to stop for a stranded motorist, to hug a friend in need, to pray for a brother contemplating suicide. It will pass.

The opportunity to hold hands with your spouse, marvel at the musical laughter of your grandchild, or watch a mother robin feed her offspring a morning meal. It will pass.

We yearn for Heaven. We yearn for a life more blessed than the one we currently struggle through. We yearn for peace, and a love that knows no bounds to fill us to overflowing; a love that will take away pain, anxiety, and that turmoil we struggle with almost every single day. There’s no fault found in desiring these things. God made us empty, to be filled with Him. A life where everyone could be filled with God’s healing, peace, and joy; oh, what a day that will be!

Matthew 6:10 (NLT) May your Kingdom come soon. May your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

I think there’s just one thing we are missing in our yearning for Heaven, in our anticipation every day for the next, better thing.

God. Is. In. Us.

We are seated in Heavenly places with Christ, through Christ, for Christ.

We are here on earth to live our lives to the fullest because of Jesus in us. We are to shine the light of the Lord, and preach the gospel of how Christ changes things. And the easiest way to proclaim that truth is by living a life of exceeding joy in all things. Not just the very good things, or the very easy things, but in all things. And as we exude the joy of the Lord in the everyday mundane our eyes are opened to more of Him, more of Him right here on earth, as it is in Heaven.

We haven’t finished the race yet. We all know this. But I don’t believe it has to be a race in vain. I don’t think we have to run blindly, just hoping the finish line is around the next corner. I think the Lord would have us to rejoice in suffering, see His hand along the track of life, and lead us to a closer walk with Him as we go. We weren’t meant for a fallen world such as this. We’ll never be totally at peace here, but we can obtain a joy-filled, abundantly blessed life while we are here by resting in the fact that God is in us. We will not fail.

We can open our eyes, slow down, and enjoy each moment, each breath, each encounter as the gift it is, and also the learning and growing experience it is meant to be. In this world there will be trouble, but He has overcome the world. We can walk each day victoriously for the battle has already been won. We can stop running so fruitlessly past the gifts offered today. We can understand that each and every moment can be used for the glory of God. They’re not wasted, waiting time until eternity. We can see our interactions with coworkers or the people we serve on the job as a chance to do God’s will. Why would we trudge through or resent that?

In our ability to slow down, seize moments, utilize the everyday, and appreciate the little things (that we typically ignore in our race for tomorrow), we can bring God’s glory here now. We can increase the harvest. Yes, Heaven is where we long to be, where we are meant to be, but the Lord created Heaven and Earth for our pleasure. Jesus has empowered us to bring Heaven to earth. He longs for His children to enjoy life through Him today, tomorrow, and forever. Don’t just yearn for what’s next, but rather enjoy what He is doing now. It’s the precursor to the divine.