I’m sitting in a Walmart parking lot right now, two days before Thanksgiving. My toddler is napping in the back seat and my mom is inside getting groceries to prepare for the feast. I usually love Thanksgiving, *almost* better than Christmas. But today I feel a bit numb to the usual pleasant anticipation of the four day weekend. The reasons why don’t matter so much, because while you probably don’t share my exact circumstances perhaps you, too, would describe this year as generally dreadful.

My 2021 has been plagued by moths, rust, and thieves. Not the literal kind (although some people do seem to loooove doing their darnedest to steal the joy from others). I’m talking about the Matthew 6 kind, where Jesus reminds us that any treasure laid up on earth is mighty precarious. While it’s tempting to blame the moths and rust and thieves, and to try to moth-proof and rust-proof and thief-proof our lives, it’s more a reminder that Jesus also told us about the glorious permanence and incorruptibility of any treasure laid up in heaven.

There…the parking lot reflection is over almost as quickly as it’s begun. I’m “in the middle of it,” in a lot of ways…down in the dust, trying to make sense of a few things. I am reminded, though, of a quote from Spurgeon: “My dear friend, when grief presses you to the dust, worship there!” Whatever else I value, may Christ be the wondrously preeminent, permanent object and anchor of my affection.