Heaven Is Like Barbara

So I went to Heaven a couple of nights ago. Pain that had me screaming, Barb didn't know what to do, and I faded into the Reality.

Want specifics? Light and colour and dancing and music, angels and friends and anticipation. A blue sky and a sandy warm beach, cars and aeroplanes (running, yes, on gas).

And God. He is not the picture, He's the pigment and the binder and the canvas and the brush, and the frame and the wire for hanging, and the nails in the wall on which portrait is hung.

It was disappointing to be sent back, but there had to be a reason, maybe just to give assurance that Heaven is a real place, a place that when you get there, you'll know that you've always known it, and you'll know that it's always new and surprising.

I mean, didn't Jesus say, "Behold, I make all things new?"

Heaven's what you always knew,

but surprising, just like life,

so I guess, when day is through,

that Heaven's like my wife,

whom I had met before we met

(I'm sure you understand),

whom I have learned so well and yet

is undiscovered land

with laughter hiding in the trees

and grace in every grassy swale.

She stands much taller on her knees 

than some tap-dancing whale,

and thus I know Heaven above

is mirrored by the one I love.

Heaven also has a soundtrack. Here's a typical song.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is NOISE.

I can hear a lot of noise

just beyond those pearly gates.

Sounds like Jesus and the boys 

have got a party on their plates,

with shouting, laughter, and more fun

than we ever saw on Earth,

which is maybe how the Son

shows us just what faith is worth.

There are no shrinking violets here,

no wallflowers stand in the shade,

for God has made it very clear

that on arrival here we trade

the hesitancy and the quiet

for a dancing, loving riot.

For Sylvia, vanilla ice cream is always new.