Sometimes I Dream Of Heaven

It never gets old.  I never run out of places to explore, people to meet, games to play.  I play a lot of games.  The Fields of the Lord are made for running, and jumping, and exploring, and playing.

I think to myself, “It’s strange that I squeal like a 10 year old sometimes”.  And then I pass my reflection in a beautiful still pond, and remember that I am 10 years old.  But then again, that isn’t exactly right.  My soul is eternal, and I have each and every memory of my life on earth.  Yet, here I am, in a 10 year old body.  I have a child’s sense of wonder and abandon.  The angst from my earthly life I remember, but I cannot feel.  I wake each heavenly morning with a child’s joy.

“Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”

Yes, there are cities here – more than could possible be explored in all of eternity.  There are lights and hustle and bustle; enough to light the imagination of any heavenly child.  There are no video games, because one can spring up in real life right in front of you, and you get to jump in and play to your hearts content.  Who needs electronics?

But I am drawn to the Fields.  I wander beside babbling brooks, I climb mountains, I rest in the shade of mighty live oaks. I play lots of baseball.  I’m pretty danged good in this particular body, not like I was on earth.  I sometimes play shortstop, but I really love to pitch.

After all this time here, I’m still pretty amazed at who “made it”.  And, how I recognise each and every person, even though I never met them on earth, maybe didn’t even live in the same era; even though they, like me, are here as children.  I know each and every one of them.  They are my brothers and sisters.  It started with Jesus – I knew who He was the moment  I saw Him.

I particularly like to pitch to Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig – even though they connect far too often with my fastball.  Abe Lincoln joins in from time to time; he’s really grown to love the game.  And the little girl in pigtails who plays a mean second base?  That’s Joan of Arc.

Every now and then, we hear a song on the horizon.  It starts faintly, yet, as we hear it, our hearts are quickened, and soon we are singing along.  We sing songs of joy and praise.  We aren’t embarrassed as we would have been on earth – we can’t help but sing.  It grows from within us, and just bursts out.  We join the heavenly chorus and feel the ecstasy that comes from being within the Perfect Song.  It dies down again slowly, and the games begin anew. 

We play with no real purpose, as only children can.  It warms my heart that two of my best friends here, who particularly like to explore heavenly mountains and beaches with me, I recognise as my earthly parents.  Here, they are kids with exuberance, who smile and laugh.  We remember all that “stuff” from our lives, but we can no longer feel sadness or bitterness about it.  We are now siblings, children of a greater father.  Sometimes, I sit on the gnarly roots of a willow with my child-bodied parents, and we dangle our feet into a running stream and laugh about the times of our lives, even the unhappy times.

I like playing with everyone (there are SO many kids to meet here!), but I really like playing tag with my brother.  He is fast, lightning fast.  He laughs as we dash through the Fields of the Lord, and knows that I cannot catch him.  Sometimes he looks down at his own body and leaps for joy.  He almost cannot remember the withering, wheelchair bound body he carried for so many years on earth.  He has all of eternity, but he is making up for lost time.  My brother just wants to run.

So we run.

And he, and my parents, and Babe Ruth, and Abe Lincoln and I run and play in the Fields of the Lord, as we did in the days of our youth.  The summer skies of heaven are filled with our yelps of play, our squeals of delight.  And then we hear a sweet, beloved voice, floating on the heavenly breeze, calling us home for supper.

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

We gather at a mansion without measure.  We all gather around a humongous table, and Jesus sits there waiting for us all.  We have a feast, eating the most scrumptious food ever – it always is:  wonderful dishes pulled from all of history.  I am still drawn to the fried chicken, but I also like the more exotic fare.  And our heavenly metabolisms can eat all we wish.  We don’t even feel bogged down later.  But we all enjoy the fellowship with each other and with our Lord.

We retire to Great Halls, and sing again.  We cannot help but sing.  The Father’s presence dwells among us, and we feel peace and awe.  Sometimes, I’ll look at another kid, and we’ll glance at each other as if to say, “Can you believe this?” 

Tomorrow, great adventures await. 

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One Response to “Sometimes I Dream Of Heaven”

  1. Warrior Says:

    C.S. Lewis spoke of the “Shadowlands”, Earth as we know it now. But in the eternal, when we shed this imperfect form for the perfection he has for us, those shadows will be lifted, and we’ll see the Earth as it was truely meant to be, and as we sometime, for just a second, can spot through the shadows.


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