A Better Country

All the back to school pictures I see every year always bring me back to this one.

It just seems like time sorta froze in some ways. Since Mason can’t be here, there really shouldn’t be a new year starting again or new first day of school pictures without him. It just seems unfair. It never sits right with me.

This smile, his laugh, his voice… they are still completely vivid in my mind. Even though things keep changing and time passes and my kids grow up, he is forever 6 years old to me. 

A few months after he died someone said, “Isn’t it great to think of him growing up in heaven?”

Um no. It’s not great at all. In fact, the thought of missing out on him getting older without me is absolutely heartbreaking.

I want to be there for the first lost tooth. I want to hear when his voice changes and watch him get taller and see how long he actually decides to grow out that mohawk. I don’t want to miss anything about my little boy. When I see him in heaven I want him to be exactly the same as he was the second he left this earth.

Obviously, I don’t know what he will look like and what heaven will be like. The Bible doesn’t say what age we will be or if children grow up. Much of that is a mystery of course. But something about losing a child made the reality of heaven much more urgent to me. My child was suddenly somewhere I wasn’t and I longed to understand more. 

Because honestly, before Mason died, I was missing something.

I didn’t know enough about heaven. I thought I did. I mean, I was a Christian of course and everyone knows heaven is super great, right?

As a kid, I used to hear things like “We’ll worship God for all eternity,” and I was afraid to admit it out loud but I would think, um, that sounds super boring. I mean, I love God and all but I’ve been in some long worship services and wondered if they would ever end. I once told an adult of my fear of boredom over the never-ending hymns in heaven and heard in response, “But it will be heaven and it’ll be fun.”

I wasn’t convinced.

Heaven was something I knew would be great, but I didn’t believe it would be great. And I didn’t even realize it. Which is what I think one of the most successful tactics of the enemy has been, to lull us into a false contentment in our ignorance. Because how can we long for something we aren’t convinced is amazing? And how will our lives matter for eternity if our focus isn’t set on longing for that better country, living for it today?

There is a hypnotizing pull to this world that lulls us into complacency. We have taken the blessings God has given us and twisted them to meet the desires of our flesh which results in discontent and entitlement. The deep desire within us for the true kingdom has been stifled and replaced with a longing for more and more of what will ultimately never satisfy us on this earth.

Honestly, I didn’t think a whole lot about heaven before Mason died. I mistakenly became pretty content with my life here. I wasn’t longing for my true home.

I read Heaven by Randy Alcorn (read it!) and my eyes were opened to things I’d never taken the time to see before. I began studying the Bible to learn as much as I could about the place my son calls home.

As a kid, I remember every time someone’s pet would die, the big theological question was posed, “Will I see my dog in heaven?” Some well-meaning adult would respond with either, “Well, animals don’t have souls.” Or “The Bible doesn’t say so we don’t know,” which could have basically been followed up with, “But it’s ok! Because we’ll be singing songs for all eternity and it will be fun and you won’t be bored because its heaven and it will be great, so there!”

I think the reason the Bible doesn’t say specifically about our pets is because it’s so obvious it doesn’t need to. Of course our pets will be heaven! They were created for our companionship and enjoyment and when God redeems and perfects this earth all of his creation is restored. Isaiah talks about the lion and lamb and the child reaching for a poisonous snake in heaven… but our pets won’t be there?! No way. I think it’s way better than that. 

It’s a shame we have limited our perspective of heaven. There is so much promise there, so much hope, so much abundance, so much laughter, and so much joy. Worship isn’t boring. Worship isn’t standing for hours on end in a stale old building singing lifeless songs. Worship is enjoying God. Thinking on him and not ourselves. Recognizing he is sovereign and powerful and holy. This won’t be hard to do in heaven. His power will be everywhere. His power will be in the absence of tears and the lack of pain. It will be overwhelming at the defeat of death. 

Heaven is exploring the mysterious depths of the sea, the tops of the most majestic mountains and the far reaches of the universe, literally and figuratively. It’s delighting in the calm of a wilderness meadow and the peaceful clearness of a fresh mountain creek. It’s being surrounded by the people we love most and delighting in the uniqueness of others also created in his image. 

Heaven is the majesty of waterfalls and the power of the ocean. It’s the delight in the freshest of fruit and the most amazing cup of coffee. It’s everything good. Everything perfect. Everything better than all we could fathom. 

It’s the depth and width and wonder of God for all eternity. And it will never grow old. In the words of C.S. Lewis, we are continually going “further up and further in!”

Heaven will be enjoying his creation without worry that our baby will be bitten by a poisonous snake or our 6-year-old will die after a simple surgery. No worry, no fear, no pain. This is something worth longing for!

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain for the old order of things has passed away.” Revelation 21:4

We have a heavenly country. One of great perfection. 

This world is a shadow. A dim shadow, where we are stumbling through, longing for the dawn. And we get lulled into believing we have to create our own pinpricks of light to make life more enjoyable. More bearable. But what awaits us will blow our minds and exceed our limited expectations.

It’s necessary to think on it! To dwell on it. And to see this dim world through that lens. 

I know time can’t stand still here. Nor do I want it to. Today is one day closer to eternity. And the monumental days that log the passing of time will keep coming. And the years will pass without Mason and it will always feel unfair. 

But eternity is forever. And I long for my permanent home. In ways I possibly never would have if my little boy wasn’t already there, waiting for me.  

The truth is, when I see Mason again, I don’t know if he will be a 6-year-old with a mohawk and everything about him will be exactly the same as the moment he left this earth. Or if he will be a grown-up version of himself that I will somehow still know distinctively. I don’t know how much time will have passed and what kind of form our bodies take in heaven.

But this I do know, I won’t be disappointed. 

“For the Christian, death is not the end of adventure but a doorway from a world where dreams and adventures shrink, to a world where dreams and adventures forever expand.” -Randy Alcorn