I have a huge box of Sprees setting on my desk. Sprees are like Sweettarts in their childishness, and I bought them only “to satisfy the occasional intervals of my real-or-imagined hypoglycemia.” Fact is, though, I like Sprees. Which is why I’m sitting here right now nibbling on a pile of little purple, orange, yellow, and green discs.
When I opened the box tonight to dump some out, at least half the pile was red. I dutifully pushed the red ones back through the tiny hole, closed the box, and put it back on the shelf, leaving me with the aforementioned multicolored arrangement. And then my head went off on this total tangent about heaven.
Red Sprees are my favorite. They taste significantly better than all the other colors. And, at some point, I’ll have a nice little pile of solidly red Sprees to eat without guilt. I can’t stand the thought of eating all the reds first. It’s cheating, you know? And I’m always like that — the last food I touch on my plate is the one I like the most. (Yes, I’m one of those annoying people who keep their food in carefully separated little piles and eat one food completely before beginning on another.) When I eat Chex Mix, I pick through and eat all the peanuts first. I eat around the chocolate chips in mint chocolate chip ice cream. I take the cherry off the top of the sundae and eat it last. I push the cranberries in my cereal off the spoon until all the flakes and milk are gone. I save the best for last. To an irritating and sincerely odd extent. Why? Because I love anticipating something great far more than I enjoy having something good.
I’m in the middle of The Pilgrim’s Regress, by C.S. Lewis. Lewis is a strangely significant thread in my life; I read the Narnia books at age six and everafter dove into his books with a ferocity unmatched to any other author. The story of the pilgrim, too, has been in my mind since childhood; I discovered Bunyan’s tale even earlier than Lewis’s. At any rate, thus far, Regress is delicious and thoughtful. I was flipping through the book earlier today to ascertain whether or not it was worth my time, and I stumbled onto this passage:
There was a long silence in the cave except for the sound of the rain. Then John began once more:
‘And yet…’ he said, ‘and yet, Father, I am terribly afraid. I am afraid that the things the Landlord really intends for me may be utterly unlike the things he has taught me to desire.’
‘They will be very unlike the things you imagine. But you already know that the objects which your desire imagines are always inadequate to that desire. Until you have it you will not know what you wanted.’
I’m also staring at a quote on my wall by A.W. Tozer:
When the habit of inwardly gazing Godward becomes fixed within us, we shall be ushered onto a new level of spiritual life… the Triune God will be our dwelling place even while our feet walk the low road of simple duty here among men.
Also (ESV):
2 Corinthians 5:1-9
For we know that if the tent, which is our earthly home, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened–not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him.Hebrews 11:16
But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.
John Piper (y’all tired of hearing ’bout him yet? He’s got a conference thing in Annapolis in… June, and I might just go) writes about “future grace.” Michael Card sings about the “joy in the journey,” Steven Curtis Chapman sings “keep on looking ahead / but let your heart not forget / we are not home yet,” and Geoff Moore asks that we be found “working with hearts that are waiting.”
I know this is kind of an old topic for me, but it’s something I understand more and more (and less and less :-)) as time goes on. I eat the red Sprees last because I want to, because knowing what great things are coming is almost as sweet as actually experiencing the great things. And, as a believer, I know that great things are coming (as Lewis points, out, they’re far beyond my imagination, awesomely) — and there is that sense of why not now? that Paul hints at in Philippians — but mostly, it’s just like, wow. God is giving me this experience of waiting, and teaching me to find the joy and sheer pleasure to be found in future grace.
I don’t know much about what heaven will be like. I’ve honestly never made a study of the subject, and I’ve never been in an environment that considered eschatology extremely important. But I do know that the “big thing” about it is that God will be there, and we’ll drink in His presence to an extent we can’t even presently understand. Words don’t go far enough to describe how excellent that thought is.
But what joy it is to wait, knowing well the object and end.
