Why can’t I just delight in the joy of heaven and the truth that it’s there? Why do I resist it?

welcome to heaven and paradise

Or more accurately, why does the whole idea make me mad sometimes?

Heaven is for real, and the movie will be released this week: Colton Burpo’s story of going to heaven and back before he was five years old. And I just really don’t want to watch it. I believe Colton and his family have every reason to speak truth, and I have no reason to question it. It’s not that I disagree. But I resist it.

I had tickets to see The Thorn, an easter depiction of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. I had heard that there was a montage of the miracles Jesus performed, so I didn’t go to the show. I didn’t have the emotional capacity to watch Jesus heal Jairus’s daughter and bring her back to life. I resist it.

The story of Lazarus, the man who was legitimately dead for four days before Jesus restored his breath, brought him back, and then it was only a matter of taking off the toilet-paper-like tomb clothes.

Heaven is for real, and yet I resist all these tellings of this place I believe in. I resist this notion that God can prevent death, even reverse it. I need to lean into this, push my thumb into this sore muscle until I figure out why it hurts.

No neat and tidy answers in this piece, my friends.  No conclusion, morals, or lovely takeaway.  Nope.

Today, I can only give you a girl who would rather not study a travel brochure to a place she doesn’t get to go anytime soon.

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