Heaven is too much for me

I know a place where people are real. It's a place where people have faith and courage and the power of honesty. No one was pretends to be something they're not. No one tries to look smarter, or braver, or more beautiful. They are satisfied and confident and happy to be in their own skin.

It's hard to understand, and harder still to miss that place. I catch glimpses of it now and then. Today I was reading Gordon's book and I could suddenly smell it. It smelled like freshly-baked bread, sunshine, and the sweat of a child who just woke up from a nap. Gordon was wearing his hat and running off to throw a frisbee, but he looked back over his shoulder and smiled and waved...

It's a strange place. All sorts of people show up. Once I saw Ayn Rand talking to someone who looked like The Velveteen Rabbit. Sometimes Oprah is there. I saw her having a deep discussion with a farmer about poetry and power. Once I saw my father, but when he saw me he disappeared. Or maybe I disappeared. I'm not really sure.

I get to visit this place now and then, usually by accident. When I'm there, I feel a little confused and very, very grateful. Often, I just sit down in the middle of everything and cry. I get this feeling, down deep in the very middle of my soul, and I can't help it. I just bawl. I'm like a little child who has been lost for a long time and has just stumbled home. I cry out the fear, the longing, the relief, the unbelief, the joy. I sob because I'm in the place I want to be and I am so afraid I will lose it again. Usually, I cry until I fall down with exhaustion and fall asleep. And when I wake up, I'm at home again and I'm okay with that.

I guess heaven is too much for me. I'm not ready yet. And even though I love the glimpses of it I see here, I don't want to go. I'm still in love with this rascally, imperfect, beautiful world.

Amen.