It doesn’t matter what you believe will happen to this world in the end. Maybe you believe God will destroy the earth, or maybe you believe God will restore the earth.* Really, it doesn’t matter.
I don’t want to talk about the dispensation or tribulation or Revelation or any version of millennialism. I don’t care about your political affiliation, whether you’re a democrat, a republican or a libertarian.
One morning Jeff got up early and headed to class. We had only been married a few short weeks, and I was already discontent with the once romanticized state of (relative) poverty that is accustomed to newlywed life. I despised that I would walk into our bedroom at night, and my socks would slip and slide on the hardwood floors. There was no way we would ever be able to afford a rug. Or a dresser. Or a nightstand. We had a 15 year old mattress, and a lamp leftover from my college dorm. It sat on the floor next to the bed.
I found an old table, constructed from repurposed wood. It is a collection of old porch posts, and boards ripped off of the side of a dilapidated barn. The wood was battered and bruised. The boards were slapped on top of the posts, and the hodgepodge of firewood became something that roughly resembled a table.