Well Done

My father-in-law and I had a lot in common. Both firstborn. Introverts. Students of the Bible. Lovers of nature. Both of us extremely conscientious, to a fault. I could relate to many of Erle’s passions, as well as his struggles. I understood the weight of pressure he felt. Pressure to please and achieve, to perfect and perform. 

The day Erle died I witnessed an exchange between my husband and his brother that was especially profound. Kyle said, “This is what I imagine happening in heaven today.” Then he took Brian’s face in his hands, and leaned awkwardly close, eye-to-eye, and he spoke two firm words: “WELL. DONE.” And then, letting go, I heard him say under his breath, 

“Now maybe you finally get it.” 

Sunday morning, while driving to church, I processed the moment out loud in the car. I reflected on the past few days—all the memories being shared, stories relived. I commented to Kyle about how it seems, at the end of a person’s life, it’s the good that surfaces and remains, while flaws and foibles tend to dissipate and all but disappear. And I wondered what would happen if we could only do our living from this perspective. What if we knew all along that those mistakes and limitations we fret ourselves silly over would be forgotten in the end? 

Well done. 

And then, at church, the sermon was along these same lines. Week two of our Advent series, and if you know my story, you know this tends to be my epiphany week. The week of PEACE. (Not peace the way we think of it. Shalom Peace.) 

The Scripture was Luke’s account of Mary’s encounter with Gabriel, the angel sent with God’s startling message. “Greetings, favored woman! The Lord is with you.” Luke tells us Mary was deeply troubled by this statement, wondering what kind of greeting it might be. And no kidding. (Luke 1:28-29) 

The Lord is with you…

Pastor Dave pointed out how this most relevant phrase is connected to a repeated plot-line in the biblical narrative. 

The obscure becoming holy. The unearned being given. The ordinary being commissioned. 

All because “the Lord is with you.” 

Mary did nothing to deserve or earn her holy position. There was no audition, no application, no prior achievement qualifying Mary to give birth to the Son of God. 

Just this—

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” 

And I heard the Father whisper to me: This is why you can stop your striving. Because if I’ve got a purpose for you, all you need is space enough for my Spirit to show up. 

I am a living example of how every exceptional epiphanic moment in my so-far earthly existence has been completely unexpected. Nothing I planned for. Nothing I sought. Just God showing up and doing what I’d have never imagined on my own.  

Because God is just that generous. Generous to choose imperfect vessels, and fill them with his miraculous presence, and let them become players in his breathtaking story. And in the end, He is generous enough to say it: 

Well done. 

Well… whatever we’ve done… Erle, me, you… and this whole world of imperfect imposters… we have a Father who actually delights to give us the credit! 

What a wonder. 

He delights in us. I’ve heard my husband repeat this word countless times in recent days. Kyle remembers a dad who delighted in his sons. He says, it’s Dad who showed me how to be a father who delighted in his own kids, too. And then, I hear Kyle talking to Grant, our firstborn. And Grant says it too: I delight in my own kids because of you, and because of Pop. 

What a miracle, this legacy. And all of it starts with the genuine and generous delight of our Heavenly Father. 

“Well done.” 

Two small words that answer all of our questions.