dreaming about forever

Taking the time this evening to dream a bit about my 'forever home'.

I've been reading Mundane Faithfulness, Kara Tippetts blog for a few years now - compelling because she is also treading out this cancer life day by day. She too has been mulling over what heaven will be like, feel like, sound like.

It blows my mind if I really let myself go there. I mean, it makes me wonder how I can ever claim to be sad over this letting go of my wonderful, dream-like life here. Makes me wonder how I can edge toward panic in my heart thinking of how my three littles and my guy will be without me when in the blink of an eye and we will be together again. All will be put right.

And when the pity creeps in, when 'the-sad-and-so-very-sorry-for-me-wave' washes me under in its unexpected torrent like it does, and when the pull to the sandy bottom insists I see myself as 'unlucky', then its my cue to think again about the place of no more tears, and know in that deep Jesus way that this is where I'm headed: not for disaster as my mind can mistake, but for this place of utter peace so deep and full that worry feels like an abstract concept. A place where joy is the 'water in which we will swim' and will be as automatic and natural as breathing in and out. A home so inviting and warm that the best celebration I've ever been invited to is pale and cold to compare.

This is home. This is my forever home. This is more than fairytale or hopeful nothings. This is it.

And my Jesus is there in person. Jesus. The One and the Only.

Again. Mind blown.

And it's this tension, this discontent between desires met and unmet here that compel me yet again to imagine afresh my forever home as an answer to the deep longings.

Deep calls to deep.

And how many times have I trawled Pinterest scanning images like binge eating lollies as I find perfection layered on perfection in kitchens, dining rooms, exteriors of homes so inviting that I want to beg to come in, and I long to make my spaces the same, possessing the same warmth, the same beckoning to 'come on in'. And I've wondered it before, years ago really, why the decorating of a space, the getting ready of a place was ever something that mattered to my heart. Why should it? Why is it anything that matters? Perhaps it really doesn't.

But somehow the longing persisted, and the joy of it sat firmly in my soul.

And I think this is why. This longing for my forever home. This longing to come home to the ultimate in warm, the ultimate in welcome, the complete and utter 'come as you are, we have been waiting for you, you are so very welcome'.

And my fingers are more than crossed that in heaven these longings will be answered absolutely.

So perhaps this is just me justifying the chandeliers that are 'shining happy people holding hands' (remember that song?!) or the french provincial joy I can't contain, but my forever home is set to answer some of these longings in all of the best ways. Oh my goodness I'm excited for that.

Mostly, when I think about flying away, about my time here being done, I think about the enormously beautiful life I am saying goodbye to. And the beauty of this life is wrapped firmly in the insane gift of my Huz, our littles, of our incredible family and friends.

And the ache to stay is all consuming. It really is. I didn't anticipate being asked to 'wrap things up' this soon in the piece. It still shocks me. And yet I know that I will live not one day more than God has planned. So it's not a matter of having years of life taken away from me. 

And I'm deeply comforted by that. Deeply comforted that each day is known, is portioned grace, is important. So the seeming randomness of stage four cancer is not something I fear. My Jesus is bigger than all this and He could take my cancer away in a snap, in a heartbeat. If He doesn't then it is off to my forever home.

And imagining my forever home is good for my soul. Takes the panic and puts it in its place.

I adore this life. I adore it completely. And even the difficult parts are welcome these days. I guess that's what you call perspective.

And yet when I fly away, this heaven, this forever home is calling big and beautiful.

Thanks Jesus. I love how you know me so well, and get how much I need to imagine the beauty ahead on the hard days. And it's all because of you dying on the cross that I get to say 'yes' to you and 'no' to following my own way. And I'm desperate to go your way. Mine is so dark and drab. You give life, even when it looks to everyone else like I'm busy dying, you are busy letting me, waking me up to, calling me, prodding me, to LIVE!

So it's all life. All of it. The here. Our forever home. The getting there...that's the mystery...but when we are actually there, with Jesus, we will be free at last. Free at last. Love it.

Oh my boys. There is so much to say on this. I know you will busy yourselves mulling it over because once I've 'flown away' then you will feel more of a draw to your forever home too. I must remember to talk always with you about this beauty-fillled place so you can hear from my lips just how real I believe it to be.

And it won't be the same without you there.

And I promised myself I wouldn't cry at the thought that you might not be there. You simply must be. You must. Please don't push Jesus away. He will be calling you to Himself your whole life, longing for your heart, pursuing you in every way you let Him. But you get to choose for yourself, and heaven is for those who follow Him. There is no other way. So babies, follow Him. For every other reason under the sun, and for this one too: come be with me in this forever home.

I love you tonight as you sleep all tucked up in beds just next to me, and I will love you all my days even when I am in our forever home waiting for you to come.

I'll get it ready for you!