A Spirit Not Of Fear

I’ve been thinking a lot about Heaven lately. Not death – but Heaven. And when I think about it, it hurts to realize how much I don’t know, can’t see, and cannot possibly imagine. No matter how much Heaven and the new earth are described in Revelation, in my human weakness I can’t possibly imagine them in their fullness. I try, but I’m so limited in what I picture.

I imagine that the sky is like an ocean of light, deeper and clearer than looking into a crystal, and the world is full of spinning, dancing, beautiful, gleaming colors we’ve never seen before. Colors we can’t imagine or name. I imagine the tree of life, and the river of the water of life, flowing down the middle of the beautiful street like liquid diamonds. I imagine gardens. I imagine music. I imagine so much more.

And I imagine God.

I imagine looking at Him and seeing only light, but at the same time being drawn into His eyes: beautiful and strong and wise and powerful and gentle...and so, so full of love. I imagine walking with Him as He walked with Adam and Eve; being drawn into everything that He is, and knowing nothing else matters.

Knowing nothing else ever did.

And that’s why it hurts so much: not knowing, not seeing, not having the capacity to picture. It’s not just about the beauty of Heaven or the new earth. It’s about knowing Him more than ever before. Having every other feeling stripped away and being left in nothing but awe, worship, and total, utter love, in the place where everything is beautiful and perfect and His. In Revelation, we get a glimpse of that. And that small, beautiful glimpse is enough to make my heart ache with longing for it.

But I’m not there yet. We’re not there yet. And though sometimes we wonder why we’re left here in this dying world, where it can be so challenging to feel God near us, we can’t always know. But we don’t need to. It’s enough to know that He is, and He is with us just as much here as in Heaven, though we can't see Him. Forever and always, we are His. No matter where we are or what we see, Heaven or Earth, His love never changes.

And neither does He.

Somehow--I'm not entirely certain how--I found myself at a conference last weekend.

Being, as I am, a most uncertain person at the best of times (and I assure you, you do not wish to know me at my worst), the level of confidence that assailed me regarding this conference is surprising. Less surprising, being that I am neither a great optimist nor an adequately convincing pessimist, is that my confidence was placed in what I might expect of the conference; and though none of it was particularly cheerful--well, I managed not to paint the utterest picture of Doom that my mind, when properly stimulated, is perfectly capable of contriving on the most creative of occasions.

Do not misunderstand: there were plenty of things that I was told to expect, among them being: a worship band, loud concerts from which I would willingly make my escape to roam the enormous halls of the conference center (it is amazing how many drinking fountains one can count in the examination of such a building), and - this most appealing of all - a little beach just beyond the hotel window, offering all the rolling and beautiful majesty of the ocean in its waking. Not to mention the warmth of springtide, for whose enjoyment said beach presented itself as a lovely host.

So you see, I was not entirely hopeless. But I did just nearly type that I found the beach 'appalling'. So perhaps I was rather hopeless after all.


Ye Goode Olde Realitie Cheque:

So, I was wrong. And I was right--in some things. Worship band, loud concerts, and daring escapes from said concerts, all yes. Warm weather heralding the come of springtide? Eh... not exactly. However, the freezing temperature and wind chill factor encouraged me to explore this mysterious invention known as the Hoodie, and the results were not altogether discouraging.

As for the hotel room, it was quite lovely, though I never got the chance to inspect any of the rooms. This is due to the fact that I happened to arrive last up the stairs, and upon stepping into the suite, immedately learned that the only bed left upon which to stake my claim was: the hideaway bed! (Thus named as an indicator of its very deceptive scheme to masquerade as a couch. Rather devious, but I caught on quickly -- as soon as I was suitably convinced that sleeping on the porch where I could see the ocean better was not among my list of recommended options. This, my friends, is the distinct disadvantage of taking eighteen flights of stairs whilst the others of the party see fit to utilize the hotel elevator...)

But in the end, I wouldn’t trade those two nights of sleeping on a pullout couch with a thin plastic mattress, and the ocean outside the sliding-glass doors singing me to sleep for anything. The conference itself? Meaningful, in ways you may or may not ever hear about. The beach? It was freezing as winter and windy as Nebraska, but without the tumbleweeds and with the lovely addition of people I happen to care about. All in all, my expectations were met in some ways, overturned in others, and exceeded in other ways still...and in the midst of it, God showed Himself good to me, in even the littlest ways.

For all of that, I just may become a convincing Optimist after all.

To Wrappe This Uppe (and Make a Timelie Escape from Olde England):

My blog posts are usually different than this. I seem to have rambled on for some time without managing to write anything particularly impactful or profound. (Dare I insinuate that I am profound most of the time? Possibly profounder, at least...) Eh... it appears to be somewhat longer, too. And I dare say that boring does not lag far behind. Yet still I have thought it worth writing; for last weekend, I remembered something important.

(...And I have remembered the necessity of ear-plugs when forced to remain within buildings determined to host a series of explosions under the pretense of a concert. But don't mind my irrational paranoia of hearing loss; heed only my thankfulness at having survived nonetheless. )

I'm rather certain that none of this is profound. And yet... it doesn’t have to be. God is good, and that alone is enough to make Him worthy of all the praise, worship, and thanks my little heart is capable of giving. He is Good. And He is God.

 And that, frankly, is all I need have written in the first place. Because I don't suppose anything I could have to say is quite as important as it.