I found out yesterday that my high school best friend's dad died last week. It affected me more than I would have thought. It seems like it often takes death to make me realize just how precious life is. It shouldn't take that, but it does. I was at a funeral for a family friend's mother last month, and I left with the overwhelming desire to tell everyone close to me how much I love and appreciate them. We simply aren't guaranteed tomorrow, and we often ignore the fact that time is a God-given gift.
If I let my mind wander around this whole deal, I begin to dream of heaven. It's a weird place for me to be. It's hard to think about. We weren't created to comprehend forever, but gosh darn it, I'm going to try. The fact that there will be no end boggles my mind. But that's what it is supposed to do. It's supposed to make us think. It's supposed to make us look forward to it. Not in a morbid way, but in a "that's going to be one heck of a home for a while" kind of way.
In A Severe Mercy, Sheldon Vanauken writes, "Golden streets and compulsory harp lessons may lack appeal--but timelessness? And total persons? Heaven is, indeed, home."
I want this stuff to stay with me. I don't want to forget about it until the next time I hear someone has died. Father, keep this in my heart.