Until Heaven

Saturday was Jude's 1 month "birthday." Jess' mom was in town and we wanted to stay kind of busy, so we decided to go hiking.

If you know Jess and I well, you know that he wooed me in the mountains; we fell in love next to waterfalls, and he proposed to me under the aspens. Most of our fondest memories of our relationship and marriage include either bikes, snowshoes, carabiners, kayaks, camping gear, or at the very least our Chaco sandals. The hike on Saturday started out fine, we were doing our best to fight through the sadness of the day and enjoy God's creation around us. We found a wonderful new hiking spot, and Libby's antics made us all laugh. She does love the snow!

But as we hiked along, I found myself really struggling to enjoy the view. In the back of my mind were thoughts of the beautiful hiking backpack we bought for Jude last summer. It was the first thing we got when we found out I was pregnant. So many of our hopes and expectations for Jude and our family were centered around family treks through the mountains, and all the adventures we would have! One of the gut-punchers that hit me the hardest in the last few weeks was when I was in Grand Junction last weekend. My mom and I went on a little hike with the dogs in a popular mountain biking area. We were turned aside yelling at the dogs to come (Libby was, of course, the naughtiness instigator), when I saw them. At first it just looked like a guy running with his dog. Then he turned around and hauled a little boy on a bike up the hill behind him; giving him mountain biking instructions, and help when he needed it. Sucker-punch. That should have been Jess and Jude 5 years from now. And I don't know if I have have crazy-person masochistic tendencies, or what, but I couldn't take my eyes off them.

Both of these hikes I was just struck with the unrelenting feeling of being incomplete. I don't know how much that feeling will fade over our lifetime. The feeling that there is always something missing. Some piece of me, of us, that's been stolen. I pray that we will have more children in the future; kids to share our love for the outdoors with (or torture them with, depending on how they feel about it). But I can't help but feel like there will always be a nagging absence in our family... until Heaven.

Sometimes it's hard for me to maintain an eternal perspective. David had eternal perspective when he lost his son in 2 Samuel 12. David's baby boy is deathly ill, and he has spent an entire week fasting and praying for the life of his son, in absolute torment. Then the baby dies. David gets up, takes his first bath in a week, goes to the temple to worship, and eats. His servants think he may have gone nuts. This is not the response they expected from their king (contrast David's response to the death of this son with his response to the death of a sinful, adult son in 2 Samuel 18). In verses 22-23 David explains: "While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought 'Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.' But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." At first it may sound like David is being a little calloused. Come on man! Your son just died! I kind of want to shake him and say "Dude! Your baby just died! Be sad!" But David's wisdom on the matter far surpasses mine. (Which is why He's in the Bible, and called the man after God's own heart, and I'm,... well,... just me.) David KNEW that he would go to this baby someday. That they would meet again, and have an eternal relationship in Heaven.

I've been spending a LOT of time lately thinking about heaven. What will it be like? Well, I don't pretend to be an expert on the matter; and I recognize that our mortal minds will NEVER be able to adequately imagine it's glory and magnitude. But I believe that it will be a relational, musical place with scenery like we could never imagine and more forests and mountains than we'll be able to explore in all of eternity. I believe that it will be a place where we can completely use and share the talents and passions that God has given us here. I have artistic sisters, and they will have unending art supplies, and paints in colors we've never dreamed of. Why would God give them such incredible artistic talents and no opportunity to use them to glorify their Creator for eternity?!? I believe that God is passionate about many of the same things that we are passionate about. We are made in His image after all. Anyone who's stood on the top of a 14er can not deny that God is passionate about His creation. It is breathtaking. How much more awe-inspiring will the snow(gold? pearl? other substances we can't imagine the beauty of?)-covered peaks be there, in the world He's created for us to spend eternity in? And I certainly believe that He's excited for us to enjoy His eternal gifts.

The last thing that I want to share with you that I believe about heaven is that it is relational. I don't doubt that there will be a fair amount of singing His praises in the throne room of God, and OH! I certainly hope I have a keyboard in front of me for that! But I don't believe, as some do, that this will be how we spend every moment for all eternity. God created us in His image. He created us because He wanted to have relationships with us. He craves our company. He also created us to crave His company, as well as the company of others. These basic facets of our nature will not be changed in heaven. In fact, I believe that heaven will offer opportunities for deeper, and even more fulfilling, and meaningful relationships than we experience here. I believe that we will know each-other. I believe that there will be many joyful reunions between family and friends. I believe that Jude is up there now, sharing a mansion with his Grandpa Craig, that they're the best of buds, and that they spend (at least some of) their days roaming the mountains singing Jesus' praise.

I believe that someday, we WILL hike with our son.