I think about Heaven a lot. It is the underlying basis of pretty much every thought I have. You might even call it an obsession. Wondering about loved ones that I have lost—are they there? What are they doing? Can they see me down here? What is it like?
In the days, weeks, months, and now years after Vince’s death I have read and watched everything I could get my hands on about Heaven. The desire to know more was not so much a comfort that it was there, I already knew it was—it was the desire of wanting to surround myself in it and to see Vince there. To see how happy I know he is there and to be there with him. To be surrounded with beauty, love, and happiness.
I moved out to the country, to the most peaceful area that takes my breath away every time I drive the single lane mountain road to get here. I didn’t even know places so removed from traffic, dense populations, and congestion existed anymore in the lower 48. But they obviously do, and now I live in one of them. The people are amazingly kind here, and there seems to be an underlying peace in being here that most everyone feels.
There is a sweet little boarded-up church just steps from my house. In my mind’s eye, I can picture congregation members spreading out tables with red-checked tablecloths on the yard beside the church for potlucks and fellowship in the shade of the mountainside and tall trees behind them. The concrete stairs, now crumbled with age and wear, I’m sure welcomed the feet of parishioners for decades climbing to find a peace for whatever situation they were facing, putting their faith into the God that hears even the faintest whisper of a prayer, but still raising their voices in worship and praise to him.
I am quite certain as I look at the church, though quiet for many years, that if those walls could talk, they would sing.
When I first did my deep dive into all things heaven a few years ago, I read a lot about the new heaven and earth. I feel like God has blessed me with getting an early preview, and I am so grateful.
I have no fear of dying. I have done it before—seen the other side while at death’s door many, many years ago and the peace that filled me in the time I spent there is a peace that I will always hold close and long for this side of Heaven.
Maybe instead of the veil thickening that separates the believers from the non-believers, maybe—just maybe, the veil is thinning to provide a hope beyond the turmoil and tragedy that seems so pervasive here. So that more non-believers can hunger for the type of peace that exists in Him. He really is right at our fingertips if we can just open up our eyes and hearts and reach for Him. To see Him in the hearts that cry out to him, the ones that know He is watching while we tear each other apart on the other side of that thin veil of belief versus nonbelief. The veil is thin, and ready to be torn. I believe that, and I am ready.
In the meantime, I will be here, out in the country, finding peace by an old wooden church.
If only it had a sign…