A Childs View of Heaven

Since losing our son in December, I have learned that everyone seems to have their own view of Heaven. I’ve heard tales of loved ones who seem to have nothing to do but float around playing harps in a place that is so beautiful, so lovely, so sterile. There’s the somewhat whimsical (though for a mother who has just lost a child rather horrifying) view of God looking over his creation and choosing the very best “flowers” (i.e. people) for His garden. And there are of course entire books devoted to what the Bible says — and doesn’t say — about this place that is the destiny for every believer.

But my favorite descriptions are those I hear from my own children. In their stories, I hear a combination of what we’ve taught them, what they’ve picked up in church and a lot of imagination that has filled in the blanks. They talk about Heaven a lot. They talk to each other, they ask me questions and it comes up frequently in their prayers. They want to know everything they can about this place where their brother now resides.

I can also see why the Lord says “Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” (Mark 10:16).

When my children talk about Heaven, it isn’t an abstract concept. They talk about it like I might talk about Australia. It is a real place with work to do, things to learn, spaces to explore. There are people to love and who will love us, family and friends to be with and a great number of new people to meet. There is dirt to dig in, streams to splash in and trees to climb. When my children speak of Heaven, it sounds a good deal like the life they know in our family minus one thing: There, there is no fear because pain and suffering and death itself have been conquered.

Heaven isn’t just a pretty picture.

As adults, even as Bible believing Christian adults, it is easy to forget that and go on living as if the trials and the joys of this world are all we have. But we are each destined for something far greater. Something that makes the best this world has to offer seem like dust, and makes the most difficult struggles on the journey worthwhile.

We are destined for Heaven and everything else is just a bump in the path.

Dana Hanley writes about life more abundantly, from the joy of a baby’s smile to the almost unbearable grief of losing a son and seeking each day to find beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead of the spirit of despair (Isaiah 61:3) at Roscommon Acresand is raising money for Tiggy’s House, a children’s home with Tiny Hands International in her son’s memory.