Heaven on the Slopes

I have been processing the times that I have recently had with family over the past week and I think that the whole of my contemplation hinges on a conversation that I had with Lindsay late into the morning. While much of my studies has been bent towards the idea of being agents of the pursuit of heaven here and now, I have often been left, especially on Monday's (Ecclesiastes Monday), asking the question, "Where is heaven?". So as I have reflected upon the intangibility of heaven, especially in light of difficult circumstances within life, it has been a healthy exercise for me to remember that everything isn't as it should be... Or else, it would be, well... heaven. So as Lindsay and I talk, we are contemplating the reality of the Kingdom of Heaven here and now, and recognize that heaven (or the reign of God) is certainly near in the moments. Lindsay then began to talk about "limited time", and we remembered that in 24 hours we would once again be in much different places. We knew that we would be sad, and we recognized that there is something inherently wrong with being far away from family. The natural next question then filled the air... Would heaven still be near in those moments of distance?

Through all of the Christian jargon of calling (which is important when unabused), in the end, I want to be near to the people whom I love the most. Whether family in Texas, family and friends in Michigan, or family in the Dominican Republic, I want to be near to family. What I have been learning is that this longing is not one of selfishness, as I have thought previously. Rather this longing is one that represents how "it is supposed to be"... or... heaven. When the "supposed to be" is taken away, my feeling is that of sickness. I feel as if one has repeatedly punched me in the throat and placed a giant worm in my esophagus. I am learning that this sickness is not a bad thing, representative of unreality, or "unheaven", but rather representing that of one of the largest realities and a very near and tangible heaven. So approaching this question of heaven still being near in moments of distance, I am growing in hope. While heaven was certainly near on the porch at 2:00 AM with Lindsay, heaven is still near (both literally and metaphorically) when Lindsay went back to Michigan. It is almost as if God mysteriously speaks through the giant worm in reminding me that there is still work to be done. Not everything is as it should be. Through the reminder that heaven is not yet complete, God is then speaking through the present Kingdom of Heaven. "Now and not yet" both make sense to me this morning. And I am thankful that heaven is evident both in the nearness and in the sickness.