heaven

I have some concerns about heaven. They are not theologically sound. They are probably illogical. But here they are:

1. I’m concerned that we ‘re going to have to do a lot of singing praise choruses in heaven. Over and over and over. Now, I enjoy singing. I like contemporary stuff, I like hymns, I like organs, I like drums. That’s not so  much the problem. The problem is that I get bored after a certain amount of time. I hope heaven isn’t like a never-ending Thursday night service at camp.

2. I hope we’ll recognize people when we get there. When you lose someone you care about, it’s comforting to think about seeing them again someday. I’m not talking “families are forever” like some people believe, but my Uncle Dick died last week. Whenever he and my aunt would visit, he’d go to breakfast with my grandpa every morning at a restaurant called the Widow McCoy. Grandpa is already gone. I hope they get to have coffee together at a heavenly diner. For some reason, that is comforting to me.

I haven’t had a lot of people die in my life. The last time I remember feeling this way was when my grandpa died, 8 years ago. Uncle Dick was not part of my daily life as an adult, but I’m so sad that he’s gone. Maybe it’s because I now have nieces and nephews that I care about so much. I hope I’ll have enough of a relationship with them as they grow that they’ll care if I’m gone. Maybe it’s because I’m experiencing this loss during a different chapter in my life than before. The thought of losing Toby has hit me in a new way. Maybe it’s because death has now entered my parents’ generation. I don’t really want to consider that. Mostly, I think it’s because Uncle Dick had a way of making me feel very special. He owned a mechanic shop in downtown LA. One day a homeless man come in and asked him if he’d like to buy an accordion. So he gave the man some money, took the accordion home, and sent it in the mail to me. Because he thought I’d like it. And I did. Still have it. This week Toby and I will fly to CA for his memorial service. There are meals planned together as a family, one with all of his friends. All stuff he’d have liked. I’m struggling with the thought of doing them without him.

I attended a conference last week where a psychologist talked about the importance of “mindfulness” which is basically being aware of what you’re thinking/feeling, and being okay with it. She told us to picture ourselves sitting on the bank of a river and watching all our thoughts and feelings float by. Our job was to simply sit there and observe them, and let them go by. I’ve thought about this exercise a lot since then. If I were to sit and watch my thoughts and feelings right now, there’d be a big barge coming down the river. It’s sadness. It feels overwhelming. Nothing else can get through. I want to run ahead of it so that I don’t have to experience it, but the problem is, it has to get through. If I don’t let it come through, the river will become clogged. I’ll be waiting farther down the river, hoping to observe easier thoughts and feelings, but they won’t come. They’ll be stuck behind the barge. Maybe it’s cheesy, but it makes sense to me right now.