It’s getting late. I’m standing in the bathroom doorway while my younger son brushes his teeth. As he finishes brushing, he turns to me and says, “What’s heaven like?”
The big questions often come at bedtime. There’s something about the quiet of night, with the darkness settling around you, that seems to inspire children to wonder about the world. It’s probably also not a coincidence that the larger questions take extra time and delay sleep – a bonus when you’re a growing child who is trying to squeeze every ounce of fun out of the day.
“We’re not really sure,” I tell him. “We know God is there and that we will be happy, but I don’t think anyone can really describe heaven. What do you think it will be like?”
We talk together, coming up with more questions than answers. Will there be food? Will there be music? Will we be able to play video games? Will it be like Christmas morning? We won’t know until we get there one day. And maybe the words we know can’t truly describe what we’ll discover there.
Still, I tell our son I imagine it will be superior to and more magnificent than anything we can imagine. More wonderful than the greatest day or celebration we’ve ever experienced. Whatever heaven involves, we have to believe that God has something in store for us that far surpasses anything our human minds can imagine on earth.
Especially as I get older, when I think of heaven, I think not just of meeting Jesus but also of seeing the people I have loved who I believe are there – my grandparents, my brotherin- law Eric, my husband’s sister Robin, my nephew Georgie, and so many others. I like to imagine that they will come running to greet me when I get there – along with the saints I’ve turned to over the years. Heaven, in my mind, is a gathering place, a place where you are truly together – with God and with those you love.
St. Faustina described heaven’s “unconceivable beauties and the happiness that awaits us after death.” That happiness must have a depth and richness of which we only catch a glimpse during our most joyous moments on earth. But I like to think we are developing our taste for heaven during those happy times – when you hit a home run in little league, watch a sunset, hug someone you love after a long time apart or hold your child for the first time.
This is a time of year when we may be pondering heaven in a special way. In the month of November, as we remember souls and celebrate saints, the space between heaven and earth can seem a little thinner. Somehow, we seem more closely connected and intertwined.
That may take on a deeper
importance in a time when the pandemic is separating us from people we love here on earth. This year, it’s hard to imagine that many people will be able to have their usual holiday celebrations with extended family. We may have to be a little more creative.
I’ve already reached out to my mother and sister, who live nearby, to ask them to participate in a porch exchange of dishes for Thanksgiving. I’m hoping we can share in a meal together even if we don’t sit around the same table. I’ll drop off portions of my cheesy broccoli dip and canned cranberry sauce on their porches.
My mother has offered to make my family a pumpkin pie.
My mother’s pumpkin pie is silky and smooth. It is delightfully decadent with a hint of brandy, and it’s served in a perfectly crafted shell. Imagine the best pumpkin pie you’ve ever had and know that this pie will knock that one out of the park. Add whipped cream to a slice of this pie, and you’ll be moaning with joy.
I may not know what heaven is like, but I know that if the angels make pumpkin pie in heaven, they use my mother’s recipe.
And we could all use a little taste of heaven on earth.
As St. John Bosco said, “Walk with your feet on earth, but in your heart, be in heaven.”
May heaven never feel too far away.
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