heaven

Every follower of Jesus ought to spend at least one night in a tent because tent camping illustrates lessons we too easily forget, like how to be content in all our circumstances.

When Bill and I moved to Iowa after he graduated from seminary, we settled into a daylight basement apartment. I use the term daylight loosely as the only full windows happened to be in the bedrooms, where it’s nice to have darkness. Two narrow window wells allowed little light into our living room. This dwelling challenged my sanctification because I’m a woman who loves living in the light. I’m not too fond of dimly lit rooms. That apartment provoked a complaining spirit in my soul. I was not content until the Lord reminded me of tents.

I enjoyed camping trips as a child, many under a tent. I remember playing card games through rain storms in a tent. The dim flame of a lantern provided just enough light to see the cards and enjoy the smiling faces of my family. The raindrops tapped on the canvas like unseen fingers striking piano keys to serenade us. And when the rain relented, we’d exit our weekend dwelling and return to enjoy God’s great outdoors, refreshed and glistening with His goodness.

That day in my Iowa dungeon (as I often called it), as I was reading my Bible and praying, the Lord reminded me that tents have no windows, and as a follower of Jesus, this world is not my home.

Dear Sisters, every roof we live under while we are on terra firma is a temporary dwelling, a tent. Understanding the apartment in Iowa was just a temporary dwelling helped me choose contentment. Remembering my happy childhood days surrounded by a canvas draped over poles helped improve my attitude as I traded my dungeon perspective for a tent mentality. But oh, how quickly I would forget.

Two years later, after living in a bright, second-story apartment in Madison, Wisconsin, my husband and I bought our first house. I forgot it was only a tent. I painted and wallpapered and spent countless hours perusing catalogs (much like browsing online)—in reality, covetlogs—dreaming of the day I could afford new furniture and the perfect home décor accessories. Soon a burglar broke in and stole my contentment. His name is Covetousness. Have you met him?

I had acted like a dim wit trying to turn a tent into a place. I had to confess my sin and be reminded again that I am a pilgrim just passing through. My dream home is Heaven; no store sells furnishings as fine as those in my Father’s house.

I remember Dr. Dobson saying on one of his radio shows that women married for a few years often become discontent with their homes. It’s true. We get bored of the décor, feel finical limits that keep us from the house we really want, and often the messes left by the messy people living in our tent messes with our attitudes. Yet, God expects us to learn contentment no matter what our tent looks like (Philippians 4:11).

After twelve years in Madison, we moved to Oregon and bought our second house. We traded up from three bedrooms to five. The difficult trade-off was losing my huge kitchen in Wisconsin and settling into a tiny galley kitchen in the new house. Apparently, I didn’t settle well. My eighteen-year-old daughter took a summer mission trip to Uganda six years after our move. When she returned, she showed me a picture of a lovely woman named Grace.

“Mom, look at Grace’s kitchen,” it was a simple wood-burning stove in a tiny cement block house. “She cooks for almost a hundred orphans in that kitchen every day. Look at her smile. Mom, please, don’t ever complain about our kitchen again.”

Ouch! Faithful are the wounds of a daughter growing into a loving friend. I needed that tent lesson. I began thanking the Lord for my kitchen, Grace’s example, and a daughter who loved me enough to admonish me when I needed it.

Bill and I now reside in our third tent together. My oldest granddaughter describes it as a palace, but I remind her it’s only a tent. I remind myself and others often it’s all junk until Jesus comes. At sixty-one, I’m still learning new tent lessons. And I promise to share a few more with you as we steep in God’s truth and camp out together (ahh, another joy of camping hot wets in the morning from water boiled over a campfire). Let’s help our hearts learn to be content by humming an old familiar tune (or looking it up on YouTube if it’s new to you),