My one-way ticket tells me where I’m going, and I’ve got an internal GPS to help me get there.
But it all looks so fuzzy up ahead. And where is Heaven anyway?
Maybe the Good Lord knows my heart couldn’t handle it if He showed it all at once. So he gives us enchanting glimpses, in those delicious moments when invisible hands peel back the curtains of Heaven.
It happens quite by surprise, I think. It comes in a beautiful dream. Or when you look out your front window one morning to see that a million snowflakes magically gathered on the front step overnight. You steal otherwordly glimpses when you drive up over a hill, and on the crest, you can see for miles. And it feels like you’re flying, and you want to drive with the top down. In January.
We see then, even if only through a glass, darkly.
Heaven comes down in that sweet moment when you curl up next to your baby girl by lamplight, and you keep watch until she starts to exhale in measured, warm breaths. Just watching her sleep makes you feel more awake then you’ve felt all day.
And you pray right then, that the Lord might look with favor upon your girl with eyelashes resting on pink cheeks. You pray He might grant her one of those dreams — a private vision of what awaits. You pray for the grandest of dreams and the most enchanting of moments — treasures you can hold onto when the ugly rancor of the world closes in around you. It’s a beauty you can hold in your hand, even if only for a moment, before it melts away.
Writing in community with Lisa-Jo, who encourages us to write for Five Minutes on the topic she assigns. This week’s word: VIVID.