Monday Confession

Last night I was standing in the kitchen at midnight eating ice cream and peanut butter, an indulgence I rarely allow myself these days. 

While standing there, I found myself thinking about how we sometimes talk about heaven being a place with mansions God has prepared and streets paved in gold.

And my confession is that I've never wanted that; those descriptors have never appealed to me.

Truth is, I think I'd feel out of place there.

Do you want to know what heaven is, to me?

Long walks in fall, when the trees are golden everywhere.

Passages from books that make me laugh and cry.

Being with the people I love most in this world.

Christmas carols.

Staring at the sky late at night.

Laughing so hard it hurts.
The comfort of familiarity and the smell of lilacs.

The peace, security, love, and steadiness of God; He is the truest friend, and an unfailing one.

Birth and death and the tangible holiness and sacred love that accompany these times of transition.

Delicious food. 

Big trees and evening light.

Morning birds.

Warm homes.

Mountain solace.

Meaningful friendships and connections with other people.

The journey and profound privilege of being a mother.

The sound and smell of wind, especially at night when it's cooler and you want to go out to walk in it.

Music.

Reading with my kids.

A really good run, when my body feels strong and light.

Curling up by the fire on my front room floor while watching thick snow fall outside.

Babies and love and growth and learning.

Letters and traditions and candles in the dark.

Holiday smells and hymns and happy memories and the gifts others bring to the table.

My joy is found in so many simple things like these.

And I can't help but hope that there's a version of heaven up there for someone like me.