I was talking to two of my favorite women about decorating. I was saying how they have similar tastes and styles and would love each others homes. I was thinking about James and eyeing the door leading to the parking lot leading to our car which would take me home. I was holding my cell phone incase the sitter needed me. I was wondering what we are doing talking about decorations for our earthly homes. What a futile conversation. How can we even talk about this after such a heart wrenching night? But there we were, there I was, talking about it. I suppose if we don’t, we might just shrivel up and collapse right where we are from all the weight.
I was driving home and had enough time to listen to one short song so I chose Why it Matters by Sara Groves. I asked the question Why again, as I do most every day, most every conversation, most every dollar spent. Why?
Why the cooking. the cleaning. the eating. the sleeping. the mortgage. the lawn. the crown molding. the porch swing.
I think about a house we visited in Ecuador that sat above water which gave the children sores whenever they entered it. I think about their “kitchen” in the corner and the pots and pans neatly hanging on a wall made of sticks. The tub in the back where laundry was done. The magazine pictures and newspaper clippings where my framed pictures and paintings would be. I think of her eyes, the mothers. Her baby who she never let go of while we stood in her home and prayed for her family. The rug on the floor. The blanket folded on the cot where she sleeps.
I should think I will have had my fill of decorating by the time I am through here. There will be no mansion for me in heaven, no paintings or newspaper clippings to distract me from what is on the other side of the wall. Heaven for me will not be a room with my name on it, please God. I’ve had enough rooms, enough walls. Heaven, surely, will not need decorations.