How do you know heaven exists? A question I've been rolling around in my mind for the last year. I have wanted so badly for it to reveal itself to me - without really revealing itself - ya know? I cling tightly to a book that was recommended to me. I lose myself in the pages with a fervor of needing to know. My questions weigh on me like a heavy leaden harness around my shoulders. I want to be able to talk to my children about heaven with such sureness and love. But I need someone to talk to me first. I am begging someone to tell me how certain they are so that I can grasp on to their certainty. Then suddenly, today I woke up unafraid. For the first time since I can remember I woke up unafraid of the unknown, undecided, and the end. Believing is like getting an extra dose of courage, because knowing and believing takes the the weight away. I am hopeful. Is this the beginning of unwavering faith?
Today is St. Patrick's Day. I've always loved this crazy holiday - always until now. For no explainable reason I find myself dreading this day when everyone is Irish and everyone wears green, drinks green things, and eats delicious food that I never once had while I lived in Northern Ireland. Maybe I feel like they're trying to lay claim to my Ireland. So protective of a place that was only mine for a season.
Every morning I wake up and whisper a prayer full of lists. Sitting hunched over my knees with my fingertips touching lightly together like the steeple, I go through a list of gratitude and thankfulness. I go through a list of others needing prayer. I list the many ways I need forgiveness and strength. When the lists have been run through and exhausted, I pray for time. I pray for time to give to the things that have been labeled important by myself and others. I pray for time to give completely to my family. I pray for time to be creative and to do creative things. How thin can time be stretched over the course of a week? I am always praying for more time.