I was just a little boy, but I noticed something confusing at church. We sang hymns about being eager to meet Jesus in heaven and I heard pastors talking about how much we yearned for the day we went to heaven. But at the same time, nobody seemed eager to die.
It was the first theological mystery of my life. Or maybe it was just sociology. Either way, I was too young to understand those words.
We prayed for sick people to get well. We prayed for long lives for ourselves. We mourned those who died. And in my little brain, that confused me.
If going to heaven was so great, why weren’t all these people eager to die?

We’re neither friends nor enemies, just strangers who share the past
‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
When love finally dies, it’s like a fever breaks and the pain is gone
Our life choices dictate who will be there when it’s our time to die
Effort to boot unethical congressman laudable, but will it really help?
Hearing what your gut whispers might save you from wrong path
If you’re out of place somewhere, nobody’s going to be very happy
I often need to remind myself what I still believe to be true