What happens to you when you die? (Oh man!)
If a baby is inside a mommy's belly, how does it get out? (YIKES!)
How big is outer space? (Reeeeaaallly big!)
A couple of days ago, her inquiring mind wanted to know all about heaven. What does it look like? How do we get there? Who lives there? We were sitting together at the kitchen table; I was writing a "To Do" list, she was having a tea party with two of her dolls. She gobbled up a package of Tinkerbell fruit snacks, looked me square in the eye, and asked, "Where is heaven?"
I cleared my throat and said, "Lil...I don't know." She was quiet for a moment, and I could tell by the sour expression on her pixie-like face that she was not impressed. Not to be thwarted by her discontent, I tried again:
"Well...When you're with the ones you love, it's right where you are."
She scowled at me and said, "No, really...where is it?"
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! (No, really...what was wrong with my answer?!)
Being the righteous (as in, rad AND churchy) babe that I am, I believe in heaven. Absolutely. I believe in a spirit life that infinitely extends--like a prairie's horizon line--beyond this mortal one. I believe in angels among us, who work small (and sometimes large) miracles on our behalf. And I believe that heaven is closer to us than we think.
Lilly asked me if we'll "find heaven" when we die. I told her we can find a little bit of heaven now--in the beauty that surrounds us, and in small and seemingly ordinary things that make up daily, fragile, wonderful life. A purple sunset. A cold Diet Coke. A small child's laughter. The first warm breezes of summer. The seconds after a baby is born. A fond embrace from a friend. A bag of potato chips. A yellow daffodil. A kiss from a lover. A heartfelt "I love you." The smell of a newborn baby's head. A smile.
And brown eyes.
Where is your heaven?