“For us this is the end of all the stories.....But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world.....had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read, which goes on forever and in which every chapter is better than the one before.” – C.S. Lewis
Here’s the problem. In order to really cope with what’s happened and to fully have the hope that we WILL see the ones we love, me and my family have scoured for scripture, experiences, and insights on what exactly Heaven will be like. Really be like. In doing that, my heart – my mind – becomes wrapped up in Heaven.
The old adage “Too heavenly minded to be any earthly good” comes into play here.
But really, here’s the issue. Heaven has become a very real place to me. More than a concept or some ethereal experience. And yeah, after all that I’ve come to know about the place, I’d rather be there than here. Period.
I’m forced with this reality: Yes, I want to be there, but I’m not, so now I’m faced with a compulsion to ask everyday – “What am I supposed to be doing down here in the meantime?” Especially considering the cost of my existence – both the gift of life that cost Ryan his and the gift of Grace that cost Christ incredible pain and death on a cross – I scream inside – literally ten times a day – “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME GOD???”
Maybe that’s not such a bad thing that I’m filled with this nagging question. It’s annoying, but it’s better than sleepwalking through life. It’s not fun. Sometimes I despise all that’s been done to secure my place here on earth because of the sense of some kind of ‘mantel’ that’s been thrown on my shoulders.
Don’t misread me. It’s not a sense of greatness I feel (see last post). I don’t take any pleasure in interviews, and honestly, this blog, as some have postulated. Although it’s a healing mechanism for me, I’ve said it before – it’s exactly like tearing a scab off every time I answer a question or put up a new post. I do it because I want to redeem the pain, the hurt for so many, and the darkness that’s fallen on those closest to this story that’s somehow captured the public eye in a way I still don’t understand.
There will be daybreak. I know it. Even though I don’t see it, God IS merciful. Borrowing Dad’s words, “God IS Good.” I have the faith. I have the hope. But I don’t know when or how absolution is coming to us.
I feel myself going through stages, like a passenger on an elevator – you see where you are, where you’ve been, and where you’re headed. I’m in the middle of grief and acceptance. I’m right there, and I know it.
“God, I fully appreciate how others have been touched and how your name has been on the lips of so many because of this. But now I’m making it personal. I’m being selfish for those at this epicenter.
Bono says he’s gonna kick the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight.
You know that we’re trying God. But we’re tired of the kicking and we’re tired of the tears. I know the heartache will never go away, but I’m asking that we might start laughing as often as we cry. That there would be joy in the morning instead of reality’s cold slap in the face. That there would be the sense that life can still be full with the time we have left here, this side of Heaven, despite the huge hole we feel with every breath. I’m asking – humbly – for those promises of a life devoted to you to become real for us.
And so I’m waiting for that God. Crack the sky and breathe brimming life back into each of us waiting for the night to give up the day.”
Amen.