Sitting in the funeral parlor waiting for the service for Uncle Bud to begin, the movement of Aunt Ginnie’s hand brought a tear to my eye. She fluttered her hand just like Libby, her sister, my dear mother-in-law, gone now two years. Ginny herself is nearly ninety, recovering from her second broken hip, brought out of the rehabilitation wing of the hospital just for her husband’s funeral.
Later, across the miles, I tell this to my daughter. She says, "I move my hand like Grandma. Remember how she always touched her thumb to her third finger?"
Yes, Libby’s gestures remain, continue.
But I want what is promised: An inheritance, kept in heaven for us. Those things God has prepared for us beyond our most creative imagination.
I can imagine a lot, can’t you? Great estates surrounded on every side by pines and pineapples. Unself-conscious intimacy with transformed enemies. Walking again with Libby among the daffodils. I can imagine rushing into the Father’s chambers to show him a new butterfly–like none on earth.
More than we can imagine. Imagine that!
Father, we long for your kingdom to come, your will to be done; on earth as it is in heaven.