I held her hand in mine. The sounds of the hospital hummed all around us, just outside the door of her room. I could hear the nurses and other patients, background noise that didn’t provide any additional peace. 

She had texted me early that morning asking me to come to the hospital. We had become friends more than a year earlier when she had been diagnosed with cancer. I was still new to pastoring and even though I knew I didn’t have all the answers, I knew I could show up for her. 

She had been moved into palliative care a few weeks earlier, and the doctors weren’t sure how many days she had left. Her text indicated how afraid she was feeling and asked if I’d come to pray. 

I texted her back: of course I would come pray.

I drove down to the hospital and held tight to her hand as she told me all she was afraid of. 

She was so afraid she wasn’t forgiven by God, so afraid she wasn’t going to be with Him, so afraid she didn’t deserve eternity with Jesus. At one point, I said kindly but firmly, “You don’t deserve it. Neither do I. That’s what makes Jesus so good. You and I could never earn it. We could never be good enough. But Jesus trades our sin for His righteousness. God sees us through the lens of Jesus Christ… that’s what makes the gospel so good.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I’m forgiven,” she whispered.

I had preached on Psalm 23 at our church just days earlier, focused primarily on verse six: “Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

It flooded back into my mind as we talked. I began to recite it quietly. She closed her eyes and repeated the words. 

“I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” I said softly. 

“I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” she said. Her eyes were closed, her breaths were labored, but her face was filled with peace. 

We recited that line over and over and over. 

“Do you know what that means?” I said when she opened her eyes. “You’re going to be with Jesus forever.” 

“Forever,” she echoed. 

We spent a bit more time together before she needed to rest again. I gave her a tight hug and told her I loved her. 

As I left the hospital, I knew in my bones that those words were true: she would dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

But I couldn’t help but wonder: is that where I spend my days too? Do I dwell with Him? More often than not, I find myself dwelling in other spaces… in anxious spaces, in fearful places, in places where my mind wanders to “what if” scenarios. 

But the promise in Psalm 23 is not only that if we follow Jesus we’ll dwell with Him forever in eternity — the promise is for now, too. 

We can dwell with the Lord forever, starting right now. We can dwell in His presence in this very moment — during a hectic workday, while throwing in another load of laundry, in the middle of singleness or marriage or motherhood. Brother Lawrence, in his tiny book, Practicing the Presence of God, believed everything we do, mighty or mundane, can serve as prayer. He was a monk who primarily spent his time washing dishes. If washing dishes in a monastery can be a place where you dwell with Jesus, then you can dwell with Jesus anywhere. 

If you follow Jesus, you will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

But I think we may as well start now. 

 

Listen to today’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

 

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