Golden Lights

Perhaps Heaven is not unfamiliar to us after all.

Perhaps it has always been hiding inside small rehearsals. In the way golden light spills across a kitchen floor at five in the evening. In the way a child runs toward someone they love without slowing down before impact. In the way a wayward adult-ish child finally wanders home. In eyes of an adoring pet. In campfire smoke caught in sweaters and hair. In blackberries staining fingertips purple at the edge of August. In the hush that falls over a lake before dawn fully wakes.

Maybe earth has always been scattering clues. Maybe that is why beauty aches.

Because somewhere inside, our souls recognize a place untouched by ending.

Heaven feels like recognition.

Like every lovely thing we have ever known finally freed from gravity and decay, multiplied. Mountains without erosion. Gardens without winter. Oceans without storms. Ground without shakes and ensuing danger-cracks.

Bodies without exhaustion. People without pain. Love without interruption and broken heart-pieces.

No doors closing. No clocks dimming then stopping. No final phone calls. No hollow chairs left at tables nor unread books on the recliners. No working without the joy of producing and serving.

And yet Heaven will not erase the earth—not yet.

It will gather much of it.

Laughter around crowded tables. The smell of something like flowery rain in reach of noses. Dogs collapsing beside their people, panting in contented joy. Bears and lions wandering through the forest. Visuals too magnificent to describe. A joyful peace while connecting with neighbors, friends and family. Sparkling fireflies. Ocean salt. Sandy feet. Someone reaching for your hand just to show their love. And Him.

Not lost.

Completed.

As though every earthly wonder was only a lantern lit along the road toward something vast enough to hold all of it at once.

love exists in both places. But only Love exists there.

Here, it arrives and leaves in fragments. In gestures. In temporary things. In gardens that bloom and fade and bloom again.

But there, Love remains fully awake forever.

No fear touching it.
No grief thinning it.
No asking it to loosen its grip.

Just the steady astonishment of being known completely and still welcomed nearer.

And maybe that is why certain moments on earth stop us cold.

The blue hour over mountains.
Choirs echoing through old churches.
The first glimpse of the sea.
A father carrying a sleeping child.
Candles glowing in quiet houses while snow gathers outside.

For one impossible second, the veil thins.

And the soul remembers home.

Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Matthew 6:10