How beautiful Heaven must be.

As life continues to change and I proceed to grow, my idea of Heaven has evolved. My concept of Heaven as a child is laughable to me now. When I was younger, Heaven was where my childhood dog Princess was. It was a place lined with gold as taught to me in class, packed with old people from the Bible I had no personal connection to, and a God that I had trouble understanding. I had heard there was no sadness, but as a kid I had experienced very little sorrow, so I felt no need to escape from this world. The amount of sorrow I and the Beltline family have felt within the past year has been beyond outrageous. At this point it all seems unreal, like we will all wake up tomorrow and it will have been a terrible nightmare. For so many families, including my own, I wish this were the case. Throughout this year alone my idea of Heaven has tumbled from a distant place to a home. An embrace I look forward to whenever it is my own time. I have lost my fear for death. When Mike passed, I saw Heaven as lovely as I had seen it as a child, just with him there. I imagined him walking with Jesus, barefoot in the grass beside babbling brooks, discussing Mike’s many questions. Heaven became an idea of reunion. When Bailey left us, Heaven became a pure destination. A place I had to get to so I could hold her again. And the scenery of Heaven changed. When I dreamed of Heaven, it was my house. Mike opened the door, and Bailey was there, in the foyer. Arms open waiting to embrace me. And after I ran to her and cried on her shoulder, Mike came up behind us and wrapped us both in a bear hug and smiled. When Jim died, Heaven became Beltline. Mike, always the doorman, would push open the entrance beaming and I would run to Bailey. And as I hugged her I would look up and Jim would be standing behind us smiling. Mike would walk over and shake his hand and they would wait watching Bailey and I together, blessing it with their nods of encouragement. And then Baby Jack slipped away, and Heaven stayed at Beltline. But this time when Mike welcomed me in Bailey stood there with Jack in her arms, smiling at me and tilting her elbows down to allow me to see his sleeping face. I take Jack from her and she kisses my cheek and steps back to hug Mike and stand beside Jim. And now we have lost Chet. And Heaven becomes new yet again. I dreamed last night that I stood in front of Beltline. I knew that my loved ones were waiting inside and I boldly swung open the doors myself. And there they were. Mike sat across from Chet with his hand on Chet’s knee. Jim sat beside him, his arm around Chet’s shoulders. And Bailey sat on the floor below him with Baby Jack laying in her lap and her arms draped across Chet’s knee. And above them all is our Savior. He stands there watching them, His hands gripping Chet’s shoulders and as I stand there observing, Mike hears me. He turns to me and smiles, and then they all in unison raise their heads. They grin from ear to ear, happy for me to join their family. I think of this picture often. I imagine Bailey handing Jack off to Mike and running over to play soccer with Madison Dunlap and Noah. I see Jim Hedges and Peter fishing in the Tennessee River. I watch Mike and Paul study the Bible together on Beltline’s front pews. I see Bailey messing with Chet about the reflection of Angels wings off of Chet’s bald head. I hate that these souls are missing from our earthly Beltline family. I hate that their families are in pain. But personally, I believe Beltline will have the best welcoming committee possible in that City on a Hill. And frankly, I am quite ready to get there and see them all.