What Is Heaven Really Like?
It is often the messenger more than the message that invokes believability. Some time ago, I had completely lost control of my senses at the sight of a red convertible. All the salesman needed to do was hand me the pen and watch as I drooled all over myself. Instead, he fed my hesitation and concluded a lesson in "how not to sell a car". Ted the salesman was as clueless as a frog in a pot being brought to boil.
"Yep, red is nice. Of course surveys show that red cars are prone to speeding tickets. Four hundred and twenty five horses under the hood and about two miles per gallon, but, what the heck? The twelve speaker surround sound is dynamite, but, if your not tech savvy, its a little complicated. Leather seats! Requires some attention and tender loving care, but, it sure looks nice. Anyway, what can I do for you today?" Ted was a sandwich short of a picnic and if he ever sold a car, it had to be his mother.
Sure enough, a few days later, I saw the same car on a different lot and just had to have another look. This time, I was confronted by Joe Smooth. When he was done with me I wanted to take it home and hang it on my wall.
"Yep, twelve coats of candy apple red, glimmering through eight coats of high gloss lacquer and just enough metal flake to catch the sun. Imagine four hundred and twenty five horses, following an asphalt ribbon that hugs an azure sea. A twelve speaker, surround sound system that whispers on command as you cruise on air ride suspension in seats hand cut from Italian leather. Imagine the freedom of a ride that begs the road to never end."
Joe fed my imagination and built a dream for me, that I had to have.
Yesterday, I was listening to a sermon on heaven. By the time it was over, I was weighing my reluctance to join the speaker in the paradise that he was describing. I mean, sitting around on a cloud, singing songs and playing a harp was not pushing my excitement buttons. I've always envisioned a lazy river with some fishing and sweet grassy banks for napping.
As I drove away, I made a stop to see Joe smooth. I had need of a dream and hope of something besides a harps and clouds. After some light pleasantries, I asked Joe, "What do you think heaven is like Joe?"
"Heaven?" He smiled, with an exuberance that moved me to take a seat. "Imagine an asphalt ribbon, paved in gold that hugs an azure sea. Heavenly music that falls in angelic surround sound from a single speaker sky. Air ride suspension mounted on the wings of eagles. The luster of candy apple red that pales to a world painted in heavenly light. Imagine the best you can and know, imagining heaven is like trying to measure the asure sea with a thimble."
As I drove away, I gave a wave to Joe. Oh, I knew Joe didn't know any more of heaven than any one else did. Joe sells dreams and I was in want of one. Perhaps, that was God's intention all along; for could I see now, what lies ahead, how would I wait the flight?
