Recently I saw a television program where Heaven was a different place for each person. It was like a bubble bath, each bubble a whole world of ideal memories and moments for that one person. Sometimes the bubbles would join and you were able to see what others’ Heavens were and how you fit into them. It was an interesting concept in that the two people, who were siblings, learned more about one another through their Heavens than they did during life.
I started thinking: What would my Heaven be like?
I don’t necessarily believe that Heaven is in the atmosphere somewhere, existing on clouds. While that may be someone’s Heaven, it’s not mine. Obviously, I don’t know that for sure. No one knows except those who have slipped behind the veil and they’re not talking. If I pictured an ethereal Heaven though, it would be a peaceful state with colors, kind of like lying on the floor in the middle of a planetarium. My other imaginations of Heaven, however, are a bit more earthy.
I can picture Heaven as climbing apple trees with my cousin or running barefoot through tobacco fields. It could be catching fireflies in the evenings or the smell of bacon cooking in the morning. I also can picture it as eating watermelon during a summer evening after a bath, watching The Carol Burnett Show.
Heaven also could steal memories out of sadness: like the last time I spoke to my parents. It could be lying in bed with my mother on the day she died, holding her hand. Those last moments, which ultimately are some of the most trying of my life, also are the most precious. I can picture Heaven as watching my child’s heart beat, even though I suffered a miscarriage just weeks later. Those periods of time looped–no beginning, no ending–yeah, I could do eternity.
But maybe Heaven’s not a memory but a feeling, like the gratitude you owe a friend for “being there” or the comfort you get from your parent’s embrace after skinning your knee. Maybe it’s the moment after a hot shower when you feel “human” again, or the feeling of warm clothes out of the dryer.
In thinking about Heaven and what it would be for me, I realized the threads people have woven into my life, and how rich and strong it is because of those moments. The fact that I could take a painful moment like the deaths of my parents and turn that into Heaven tells me I’ve taken more away from the experience than just the pain.
So, my question to you is: what learning in life’s journey can you picture as Heaven?