Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Some people say that we won't recall our lives here when we get to Heaven. Others say that we may remember people that we see in Heaven, but the memories they resurrect will quickly vanish in the vastness of God's glory. Last weekend, I came to realize that I don't happen to believe either view.

There's too much that God has made in this life that is good---too much that displays who He is, what He's given us. To say that when we get to Heaven we'll forget or not remember things in this life is to say that God made nothing worthwhile here in my mind. It seems very narrow and limiting of who God is....like just because things here are not in there perfect state they can't play a part in eternity.

What brought this about? A ride in the bed of a Dodge pick-up through the East Tennessee hills in the wee morning hours of Saturday.

Josh Mullins and Christa Neeley were married Saturday afternoon, and so the night before we took Josh out for some fun on his last night of singleness. After stopping to change clothes after the rehearsal, we (myself, Josh, his brother Adam, friend Andy and Chris Bean) moved on to Wal-Mart to pick up two dozen doughnuts and chocolate milk. The day's blazing temperatures had simmered into the mid-70s, and the midsummer night gave way to a cloudless, starry space above us.

Chris, Josh and myself rode in the bed, while Andy and Adam sped down one-lane, sometimes dirt roads carving their way through the country side of Madisonville, Tenn. As the wind tore at my hair and face I was struck by the fact that who I am is not made for this world. I am eternal. A temporal environment can become comfortable and may at times seem natural, but when the blunt truth is revealed there is nothing here that will satisfy my natural longings. And while this reality hit home, I was also struck by the feeling of the wind burning at my face and the smell of ivy permeating the air that fell behind us.

The senses immediately gave way to a memory that I hadn't taken hold of since I was young. I was nine, ten, maybe eleven years old, and I would get up early in the summer and go for walks or bike rides with my dad. Often, the sun would be nearing its appearance, while the night's cool temperatures would hang around in the form of fog like apparitions from another life. The lake across the street from our house was smooth and tranquil, and there was an excitement, a feeling of limitless possibilities and of a time that was my own, as if not another person was experiencing this moment.

These moments we remember are a key component to the process of santification in my opinion. And that process leads us to greater knowledge and love for God. Sure you can say that "well, when we get to Heaven, God will be all we'll need and we won't need this or that." Great. God's it. Case closed. Angels, harps, throne and praise and worship all day, 24-7 through eternity. Ummmm, yeah.

If something points us to God and gives Him glory then why can't it remain after this world? I'm sick and tired of hearing how this world is so bad. Is it temporal? Certainly. But is there still good? Most definitely yes.

I will remember May 22, 2004 when I am in Heaven, I have no doubt. I'll recall how God spoke to me louder that night than He had in quite awhile, and I'll remember how that played into His wooing of me further into Him. I'll recall how the element of moist air rushing past me left a damp sting on the skin that covered my earthly body and I'll stand amazed that Someone so creative made it all fun. I'll remember the sticky hands that ate doughnuts and chocolate milk (whoever thought of that was genius) and the way the three of us stared at the stars like they were celebrities themselves. Maybe the new Earth will put this one to shame, but I doubt that I'll not be able to compare the two.

The wedding was old hat for me, though I did appreciate it more since I saw the relationship before it really started. How strange to think that I knew both of them before they were really friends, and now, Lord willing, 40 or 50 years from now I will find them together somewhere. It's a great story of timing and providence that could be made into some Christianese blubber-fest starring Kirk Cameron and Mandy Moore, but I'd never stoop so low.

Christa had it bad for Josh our senior year, but she could never get up the courage to talk to him before she left for Kazakstan for a year. Josh felt the same way and must have hit himself over the head a few dozen times the night he said goodbye to her. Then, for nearly an entire year, Josh and I would meet on Wednesday nights for dinner to talk about what a stupid non-move he had made. She comes back to the U.S. a year later, decides to move to Tennessee where she has no job, family or housing, Josh and I drive out to get her, the two start dating and the rest is history. Cool.

Yeah, I could have written that story.

And another thing, I love the smell of poop rushing into into the cab of my truck while driving through the country. Generally, it needs to be cow poop, but most any animal's besides chickens will doo. Sorry about that. Someone once told me that Christians are like poop---you stick them together in a big pile for a long time and they start to stink, but if you spread them out they made things grow. I don't think I'd like that smell so much were I standing beside a pile of it.

And this entry's latest sign of the Apocalypse---two words: Olsen Twins

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