The old adage may be trite, but that makes it no less true: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. There is something about being apart that stirs our affections, that causes us to understand and articulate what we might otherwise have taken for granted. It is often only through a time of separation that we come to understand how much another person means to us.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder” is true when our loved ones leave us for extended periods or when they depart for distant lands. But “absence makes the heart grow fonder” is equally true when our loved ones depart this earth altogether. We learn that death does not cause love to die, but that in its own way, it fosters and amplifies love all the more.
And why shouldn’t it? In the distance that death interposes, we come to overlook old vices and delight in former virtues. Offenses begin to fade from our minds, replaced by memories that are sweet and delightful. A loved one was never so virtuous and never so much a Christian as she is in our memory. And then there’s this: our hearts are naturally inclined toward those who are weak. And who could be weaker than one who is drawing his final breath, one who lies in a coffin, one who is buried in the cold ground? Death displays the ultimate weakness and it moves our hearts in pity and love.
And so, though our loved ones are gone, we love them still. Though our loved ones have been taken, we love them all the more. Their absence makes our hearts grow ever-fonder.
But what of their love for us? Do our loved ones continue to love us even when they have gone to that Land of Love, even when they have finally come face to face with the God of Love?
I am convinced that they do love us still and I am convinced that their love, too, grows all the more. I am convinced that absence makes their hearts grow fonder, just as it does ours.
After all, they are still sentient, still conscious, still human, still themselves. The lives they lived are real, the relationships they formed are genuine, the experiences they enjoyed are authentic. Though torn from this world and separated from their bodies for a time, they are not torn from who they were. They are not whitewashed into new beings, not reset into people radically different from the people they were on Earth. The bonds of marriage may be severed by death, but not the sweet friendship of a husband and wife. A man’s son here will still be his son there, a woman’s mother here still her mother there. There is much we wonder about heaven and much we discuss or debate, but not the continuity of relationships, not the continuity of love.
And so, if we treasure all the sweet memories we once made together, wouldn’t they? If our hearts yearn to make new memories with them, wouldn’t theirs? If our mouths are crying out “Come, Lord Jesus,” wouldn’t their mouths sing the same?
It is a beautiful thing to ponder that even as we remember our loved ones with such tender affection, they are remembering us with hearts just as warm. Even as we long for the day when we can throw our arms around them, they long for the day when they can throw theirs around us. Even as we yearn for the time when what was severed will be restored, they are yearning for it too. Their love for us continues and their love for us grows, for absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

It is for good reason that we have both the concept and the word average. To be average is to be typical, to be—when measured against points of comparison—rather unremarkable. It’s a truism that most of us are, in most ways, average. The average one of us is of average ability, has average looks, will live an average lifespan, and will leave an average mark on the world. That’s just the way averages work.
Maybe it’s something about being well into middle age that has given me greater freedom to admit all the ways in which I am average or below average. As a young man, I may have harbored dreams of excelling at everything I attempted and of achieving each of my dreams. I assumed I had all it would take to succeed in every way, that I was far beyond average and far more than ordinary. But as a not-so-young man, I have a more realistic assessment of myself—an assessment that accounts for the ways in which I am average or less-than-average. And there are many.
In this vein, I often find myself thinking of the parable of the talents and the way the main character in the story distributes his wealth to his servants. “To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability.”
This man knew his servants and had realistically assessed their capabilities. He knew that some were more able than others, and he distributed his wealth accordingly. To the most able he gave much and to the least able he gave less. And crucially, he passed no judgment on the varying abilities, as if the two-talent servant was lazy and needed to work harder or the one-talent servant was apathetic and ought to expect himself to enlarge his capacity. He distributed to each what he knew they were capable of handling, whether by nature, nurture, or some combination of the two.
From the parable we learn that God distributes opportunity according to ability, for “talents” are all that God distributes among his people—gifts, passions, abilities, influence, education, money, and anything else that can be used to honor (or dishonor) the Lord and carry out (or fail to carry out) his purposes. And while we may all like to think that we are the five-talent servant, the law of averages, not to mention an honest look within, assures us that most of us are not. Many of us are three- or two- or one-talent people. Though to some God has given extraordinary minds, abilities, opportunities, and responsibilities, to most he has not. In most ways and for most of the time, most of us are hovering around average. You are probably hovering around average, and so am I.
Though to some God has given extraordinary minds, abilities, opportunities, and responsibilities, to most he has not.Share
And that is okay. It is okay because this reflects the way God himself has made you. There is no shame in being a one-talent servant when God gave you one-talent ability. There is no need to compare yourself unfavorably to those who have achieved more success on the basis of their greater gifts. And that’s because God’s assessment of you is made on the basis of what you did with what he gave you. Even though the five-talent servant and the two-talent servant generated different results (a gain of five for the first and a gain of two for the second), they received the same reward. Why? Because they had been equally faithful with what God had entrusted to them so that their results were proportionally identical. God had five-talent expectations of the five-talent man and two-talent expectations of the two-talent man. Faithfulness did not look like five from the two or two from the five.
A sweet application of the parable is that the person of little ability can be every bit as successful in the eyes of God as the person of outsized ability. And that’s because you are responsible before the Lord for what he has given to you, not what he has given to another. Your task is not to display the same results of faithfulness as the person with a bounty of gifts but the results of faithfulness that go along with your sparse gifts. I am quite certain that heaven does not cheer louder for the five-talent servant who earns another five than it does for the two-talent servant who earns another two. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the greatest cheers rise for the one-talent servant who is simply and joyfully faithful.
The upshot is that you don’t need to dream of pastoring a bigger church, leading a greater ministry, writing bigger checks, or influencing a larger crowd, as if this is what it means to succeed in the eyes of God. Of course, neither should you allow yourself to be apathetic and fail to discover and maximize what God has given you. But you can faithfully, diligently, and confidently steward your one talent or two and know that God is well pleased, for you are most truly stewarding his one talent or two—the full sum of what he entrusted to you.

Good morning from Mexico City! I am here to film the final episode of Worship Round the World. I’ll also be speaking at an event for pastors on Saturday and preaching on Sunday, so it is shaping up to be a full weekend.
This week’s deal at Westminster Books is a devotional book that looks interesting. You will also still find last year’s bestselling kids books on sale.

As the son of Quebecers, I really appreciated Sarah Eekhoff Zylstra’s fascinating account of the recent history of the church in la belle provence. Amazingly, Quebec represents the largest unreached people group in North America.

This is a good an appropriate question. “Brothers, are we peaceable presbyters? If our church members read our Tweets, would they recognize us? Would they be shocked at the derision we lob at one another? Would they see Christ glorified in our hasty judgments of others motives? The ridicule and scorn we seem to revel in? Let’s be honest are we Tweeting to win a brother or slam him?”

Hopefully you still have one of your monthly free articles from CT so you can read this one about IVF and evangelicals. “As record numbers of Americans grow their families through in vitro fertilization (IVF), Christians who believe that life begins at conception—even if that’s in a petri dish—face new questions and challenges. In response to expanding reproductive technology, pro-life evangelicals are reexamining the theological and ethical concerns around creating and caring for life at its earliest stages.”

“We all want the treasure of friendship. Of course we do. It’s treasure! We just don’t all want the process that makes the treasure look like treasure. We want to discover a hoard somewhere that someone else worked and fought for, that someone else mined and minted, and we want it all for ourselves to spend and enjoy as we see fit. Maybe that’s why we’re so lonely.”

Don’t miss Vanessa Li’s sweet call for us to be like little children. “Let us become like little children, singing freely to the King of Kings. Faces lifted, voices ringing, unconcerned with notes and rhythm, twisting melodies in swirls of wonder, joy in every note they sing. There’s no embarrassed silence, self-conscious mumbling or comparing of their voice to others. The joy within is echoed in the voice without and warms the hearts of those who listen.”

Anne Kennedy asks and answers the question.

…it falls to us to tend to names carefully, to respect what others hold most dear. We might justify carelessness with another man’s trifles and trinkets, but most certainly not with his good name.

No man is a believer, no matter what else he may do, except he give his will, his life to the Master. No man is a believer who does not obey God.
—George MacDonald