When I Get to Heaven . . .
This is my week to sit on my porch swing and tell you about my God thoughts. However, I am not in my swing this week. I am in Florida. Although, He is here with me, the beach and the book I am reading are calling me away from the computer. So, I am publishing a post I wrote a few years ago. The thoughts at the end are among my favorites.
When I get to heaven, I’m going to tell Jesus “Thank You”. I’m going to dance with the Holy Spirit. And then, after sitting in God’s lap for about a thousand years, I’m going to grab a cinnamon date spice drink and wander over to a special showing at the Kingdom of Heaven’s Art Gallery.
I’ll stop by Leonardo Da Vinci’s studio room. And if he was able to talk the first 12 disciples into posing for a do-over of “The Last Supper”, I’ll sit for a while and watch him paint.
I’ll examine the faces of the men who knew Jesus best as they recreate their last meal with Him.
Then, when the guys can’t sit still any longer, one of them will probably get a mischievous twinkle in his eye and reach out to flick a string of spaghetti at the Apostle Peter . . . who will, more than likely, counter with a meatball fast pitch to Bartholomew’s ear . . . and Bart, oblivious to Da Vinci’s horror, could very well respond by catapulting the lamb and lentil cannelloni over a disbelieving Thomas and into the laps of James and John . . . who aren’t called “The Sons of Thunder” for no reason . . . and I’ll sneak out the door as Leonardo Da Vinci’s “Last Supper” becomes a full-fledged food fight.
I’ll peek in the window of Michelangelo’s studio room. If he was able to arrange a celestial showing of his paintings, he’ll be there frantically painting clothes on all his chubby, little, naked cherubs. I image that the censorship committee would have required that. Heaven knows that if the angel girls were to see his work in its original form, eternity would resound with their alarmed cries.
“Does this painting make my bottom look big?!!”
If Vincent Van Gogh (the demented dude who cut off his own ear) made it to Heaven on the “Special Grace for Troubled Souls Plan”, I’ll check out his studio too. It’ll probably be in the mental rest wing . . . the section for all the creative geniuses who just feel more at home in a studio with padded walls and a “No Pointed Paint Brush Policy”.
The colors of compassion will spread across his canvas. Mercy will flow from His paintbrush and ripple over the horizon.
Broad strokes of power and majesty will form clouds in the sky. Sacrifice will shine through and line them with a bittersweet beauty.
Then, as peace, hope and joy fill in the empty spaces, the angels will begin to sing:
“All creatures of our God and King lift up your voice and with us sing, Alleluia! Alleluia!”