Home Sweet Home
I was thinking about heaven the other day.
It’s hard to imagine what heaven will look like, but I think I know how it’s going to feel… thanks to some of my fonder childhood memories.
I grew up (for the most part) in a small, picturesque town in New England. The town is the definition of charming: white steepled churches, gristmills with their water-wheels and those old-school, farm-red barns dotting the countryside.
It was a beautiful place to be raised, and while my parents truly loved us and did a superb job making sure we always had everything we needed, they didn’t know they Lord and had some personal problems that made for some difficult times for us four kids.
But I am happy to say they both came to saving faith later in life—All is good!
And the chaos in our home only served to make visits to my grandmother’s place all the more wonderful. And that’s where the fond memories begin.
My mother’s large, loud, and loving Sicilian family settled near Boston, and at holidays or during summer breaks we’d often go up and stay a few days.
Mom had four older sistahs and one older brothah, as they’d say. (Bostonians like to drop the r’s where they find them and add r’s where there are none (as in idea(r). It’s hard to know why they do this, but I’ve always found it endearing.)
There was this large, chocolate brown Victorian-style duplex on Brown Street that served as grand-central for the entire famiglia. In the upstairs flat lived my auntie and uncle and 2 delightful cousins; downstairs, another auntie and uncle, along with my grandparents.
Even as a kid I picked up on the old-school charm of the place: the board and batten trimmed walls, elaborate crown moldings, mahogany doors with crystal knobs, braided rugs, clawfoot tubs, and those old-school iron radiators. I could go on, but you get the idea(r): cozy and quaint down to the last little detail, especially at Christmastime.
Come December, the house was aglow with colorful lights and overflowing with a bunch of happy Italians: pinching our cheeks, giving us gifts, laughing and playing card games, and singing Italian songs into the late hours of the night.
During the days my cousins and I explored along the banks of the Spigot River and managed to scale the old stone walls of the nearby Catholic convent (which looked to me like some kind of medieval castle). I never knew how fast I could run until we were chased by the German shepherds that were guarding the grounds.
It was nonstop adventure, nonstop excitement, and nonstop fun.
On Christmas Eve, I would tag along to Midnight Mass. It’s the first time (and only when visiting them) I heard the singing of hymns and the words of God. It made a lasting impression.
And oh man—All. That. Food.
You walked through the door and the aroma of garlic, basil, and pesto hit you like a tidal wave of deliciousness—arancini (rice balls), pasta con le sarde, stuffed lobster, linguine and clams… and my favorite: sciachiatta (Sicilian meat pie). And if you’ve never had a cannoli for dessert, put it at the top of your bucket list! (My sistah, Jodi, has recipes for most of these dishes on her blog, garlicgirl.com.)
So, as I was saying earlier…
It’s hard to imagine what heaven will be like, but I think I know what it’s going to feel like.
Because Jesus describes heaven as His Father’s home (John 14:1-2).
Brown Street was the place I first felt like I was home.
I was loved and I was safe.
Lots of joy–a real refuge from fear; and in many ways, I think, a taste of heaven—imperfect as it was.
It was a place I never wanted to leave.
And isn’t that how we’re going to feel when we are home in heaven?
Heaven will epitomize every sacred emotion and every noble idea we’ve ever known.
Goodness in all its perfection..
Love in all its perfection.
Truth in all its perfection.
And yes, lots of adventure too.
Why would the One who designed us with a love for adventure decide against having any in the life to come?
Reigning and ruling with Christ, as heaven is described, does NOT sound boring… in case we’re thinking it’s all about sitting on clouds and playing harps endlessly.
Be that as it may…
I love C.S. Lewis’ little limerick from the Chronicles of Narnia about Aslan the Lion who represents Christ:
Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more.
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.
Heaven: A world where God and His goodness dwells and where “pleasures are forevermore” (Psalm 16:11).
And the best news of all…
You never have to leave.
Because you’re home.
To be absent from the body, is to be home… with the Lord. 2 Corinthians 5:8
