Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.
- Revelation 3:20
With a long shadow cast over the course of a day, there's certain conversations that take me by surprise with joy and unexpectedness; all the hopes and dreams of heaven concentrated in the ordinariness of an out-of-the-ordinary word or two. We were coming back from a day at the park, singing out my client's favourite worship choruses together with delirious joy; "Praise the name of Jesus / he's my rock / he's my fortress / he's my deliverer / in him will I trust". We sang soulfully and with a "joyful noise", when almost out of nowhere, the bottomlessness of heaven dropped, like a hidden longing that could no longer be contained:
I replied without hesitation; "Yes, you certainly do!"
"What does that mean: I look good today?"
It was a fair question demanding an honest answer; "Well, I guess that means that we all like you."
He nodded his head earnestly.
"You know, I'm 42 now" he continued wooden-faced. "That means next year I'll be 43."
There was no denying it; "You know, you're right", I replied, as he looked at me intently with stoic resignation.
"Next month is August. That's my roomate's birthday. He's 48 right now. That means he'll be 49 next year."
"Why, that means he's older than you"; I stated the obvious.
"What does that mean: He's older than you?" he asked.
"Well, I suppose it means that he's had more birthday's than you." We fell silent. Then I added; "We'll have to have birthday parties for both of you next year."
"Then what could happen?", he asked rubbing his hands together expectantly.
I knew where this leading question was taking me and so I played along dutifully; "Well, maybe we could put up balloons and birthday hats."
Clearly not satisfied he pressed the matter further; "And then what could happen?"
"Oh, I don't know, then maybe we could have birhday cake?"
He nodded his head again in all seriousness.
Caught up in his childlike candor I continued, "Then we'd have to clean up and get ready for next year's birthday party."
His face brightened with boundless wonder, "Then I'll have a birthday again and again and again."
"Uh huh" I faintly muttered, as if to myself.
"Then what could happen?" he asked.
I was sure-footed up to this point in our meanderings, but now I had to admit I had lost my way; "I'm not sure? What could happen next?"
"Then I'll go to heaven" he said with clear-sightedness.
I could only add my amen, "Yes, I couldn't agree more."
His eyes met mine, "And in heaven I won't have to worry about my diet!" (He has Prader-Willi Syndrome characterized by the obsessive consumption of food, which can lead to high-risk obesity).
With laughter I replied, "Yes, I suppose you can eat as much as you want in heaven".
"Yeah!" He shouted and danced around me.
Where do people get the misconception that in heaven we will be joylessly perched in the clouds while plucking a harp (no offence to harpists). My client takes another view: heaven could only be the most unimaginably satisfying place, beyond the humdrum of finite, fallible, and faltering words.
We squinted out into the sweeping expanse of the ever-widening Prairies, with only the jagged tips of the Rocky Mountains puncturing its big sky, off of the Foothills and into the horizon. I thought about the already-here-but-not-quite-yet tensions of heaven and life as it is. It's difficult to imagine heaven now knowing that disability will no longer exist then; the only life I've lived, the only world I know. But in that slant of light, I could imagine a glimpse of heaven looking back at me.
"Yes, you do look good today."
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