In his book, Heaven, author Randy Alcorn  tells us, “God is big enough not only to fulfill your dreams but also to expand them as you anticipate Heaven.  When you experience disappointment and loss as you faithfully serve God here, remember:  the loss is temporary.  The gains will be eternal.  Every day on the New Earth will be a new opportunity to live out the dreams that matter most.”

I read that quote recently on a flight to Arizona.  It struck me pretty hard.  I read it over and over.  Reading it and believing it are two entirely different things.  You can’t just skim over an idea like that and not dissect it.  “As you anticipate Heaven.”  Am I truly anticipating it like I should be?  Do I live every day to glorify God?  “As you faithfully serve God here.”  Do I do everything for Him?  Am I giving 100% of the best of me?  Have I been devoted in prayer?  “The New Earth will be a new opportunity.”  How much thought have I given to seeing Dalton in a resurrected body on a resurrected Earth?  Am I doing what is called of me to be with my loved ones on the New Earth?  Will my name be written in the Book of Life?

Other than The Bible, Heaven might be the most important book I will ever read.  If you are not familiar with the notion of a New Heaven and New Earth, you need to be.  The book of Revelation in the Bible can be very confusing.  There was a time when reading it made me nervous and weary of what was prophesized.  My interpretation of it was small and misleading.  After reading Randy Alcorn’s book, I see it completely different.  I don’t fear God’s wrath as a means of destruction of mankind.  I have a better understanding of what is to come.  Though I am aware that physically I will not be on this earth when its fiery obliteration presents itself, it doesn’t terrify me.  It will be a return to Eden.  A paradise in which I pray I will be lucky enough to share with the people I have loved in this world, and have loved me.  I have hope.  That hope for a resurrected Earth is what motivates me every day of my life.

If you are thinking that I don’t have bad days, then I am misleading you.  I have terrible days.  Last Friday was as awful as they get.  We took a family trip to Phoenix for the weekend.  It didn’t help that I had a miserable cold.  In typical “mom fashion,” I tried to be fun and energetic with the kids and Troy because we were out of town.  We were driving to a mall when the flood of tears came.  There wasn’t even a trigger to spring forth the emotions that day, that I know of.  That is how grief can bite you.  You can be laughing one second and crying the next.  Maybe it was the extra seat in the car.  Or the quiet ride.  Or the fact I knew he would have loved to go to the NBA game we were going to that night.  It is hard to say.  But his absence was felt hard.  I cried throughout the entire Suns vs. Bulls game.  I was thrilled to be watching 3 ex-Jayhawks share the court, yet I bawled like a baby through it all.  I wanted to watch Dalton watch it.  I needed his smile and enthusiasm.  I needed him to bug me about concessions every five minutes.  I needed him to beg me for unnecessary fan gear that he would never wear again.  I needed him to ask me to take him to the bathroom so he wouldn’t get lost.  I just needed him.  I had people staring at me all night, wondering what in the world was my problem.  It’s not every day you see a woman cry her eyes out at a professional basketball game on a Friday night while surrounded by her family.  I hate that my kids and husband had to see it too.  Some days the grief is relentless like that.  Later, as I got back into the hotel room, I walked into the bathroom.  I slumped down under the sink and screamed into the towel while my family watched tv in the next room.

On Tuesday, November 18th, I dressed for the viewing and rosary for my son.  I wanted it over with, yet I didn’t want to rush the process.  I was fully aware that I only had one more day to look at DD’s beautiful body while on this earth.  Somewhere around this time, shock and denial reared their ugly head and I couldn’t think as clearly.  My thoughts became jumbled and faces appeared indistinct.  Together with Troy’s family and mine, we received hundreds of condolences as people made their way through the viewing line and later at St. James.  Love from friends and strangers enveloped all of us even through the pain.  Who would have imagined so many people could be united in a common emotion?  Our sorrow was deep, but we knew we were not alone.

It was probably around 9pm when the last person left the church.  The rosary had been beautiful.  Dalton’s friends and Keely read their stories perfectly about him.  It had been a packed house.  I tried to tell every person I could that I appreciated them coming.  Most importantly, I was feeling blessed for having the opportunity to have the Virgin Mary act as my intercessor between myself and God during this time.  I felt an intense connection to the Mother of Jesus that night.  She understood and was there to comfort me.  Father Schemm didn’t rush us in the least after everything was over.  In fact, he told us to take our time and to depart when we were ready.  Troy, the kids, and I walked up the aisle towards the sanctuary one last time that night.  The casket remained open and our precious boy appeared to be sleeping peacefully.  We took the time to read each and every hand written note on the outside of the casket.  We held each other and broke down.  The church was glowing with candlelight and the space felt inviting.  I remember Colton saying we couldn’t leave him there all alone.  I told him there was no greater babysitter for Dalton than being in the presence of Jesus.  It wounded my heart to say those words, but somehow I was conscience of the fact that my son was home.