Eight years ago this week, I sent my first post out into the blogosphere. So much has happened—in my life, in our country, in the world—since then. It’s almost incomprehensible, if I try to think about it all.
A blogger friend recently celebrated her seventh anniversary by posting excerpts from her top seven posts, and I thought it might be interesting to do something similar.
When I think of seeing my dad in heaven, I imagine a joyful reunion with much laughter. I imagine he may have a new joke or two, or perhaps want to show me some really fascinating aspects of heaven that nobody would have ever thought of here.
Maybe we’d talk about football, or a few of the more bizarre events that happened on earth after he died in 2019.
When I think of seeing my mom in heaven for the first time, though, all I can imagine myself doing is crying. To see her whole, standing up straight and tall, completely free from all the fears and worries that hampered her on earth. To hug her, to tell her how much I love her, to thank her for not holding the self-centeredness and self-absorption of my earlier years against me.
It seems like all of that would trigger an onslaught of emotion that could only be expressed in tears. It’s the only possible reaction I can imagine.
But the Bible says there won’t be any tears in heaven, right? There it is, near the end of scripture: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there will no longer be any death, there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain.” (Rev. 21:4, NASB)
Perhaps this has to do with tears of grief, pain and sadness. But what about tears of joy? Will our heavenly bodies not include the ability to be so happy we could cry, as the saying goes?
I kinda hope not. But let’s not take my word for it.
In his book Heaven, Randy Alcorn writes that Revelation 21:4 “primarily addresses not tears per se but the tears coming from injustice and sorrow.”
As a result, “We might shed tears of joy in Heaven,” he explains. “Can you imagine joy flooding your eyes as you meet Christ, for example, and as you’re reunited with loved ones? I can.”
We are designed by God to be emotional beings, Alcorn says, and while our feelings have been “bent by sin,” they will “forever be straightened again when God removes the Curse.”
In other words, we will be able to feel healthy emotions intensely and freely, in a way that reflects our creation in God’s image. Maybe we’ll cry actual tears, or perhaps our heavenly bodies will express emotion in a way we can’t even envision right now—a way that is different and infinitely better than what we experience here on earth.
The truth is, there are some things our human minds simply can’t know. As my dad once told me, we’re sort of like caterpillars contentedly munching away on tomato plants, with no possible way to imagine the transformation that’s about to happen to them.
“A caterpillar just can’t understand butterflies, even though it’s going to be one,” he explained. “The Bible says we don’t know what we will be like, but we will know what we will be when we see Him.”
In the meantime, we rest in knowing that “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.” (I Cor. 2:9, NKJV)
And we look forward to reunions with loved ones who have gone before us that are joyous and beautiful, tears or not.
♥ Lois
This post is part of a collection called Help for Parent Loss. To read more, please click here.
Will our heavenly bodies include the ability to be so happy we could cry? I kinda hope so. #tearsinheaven Share on X In heaven, we will be able to feel healthy emotions intensely and freely, in a way that reflects our creation in God’s image. #tearsinheaven Share on X
Finding my fall rhythm after my girls go back to school is always a challenge. This year, it’s been especially tricky, though I can’t put my finger on exactly why.
I’m getting things done, but something is off inside. I can feel it acutely, but other than naming a few uncharacteristic (for me) symptoms, I can’t really describe it.
What advice would you have for your 20-years-younger self? What is one bit of encouragement you’d give a mom with small children?
Questions like these came to mind as I sat on the floor in my basement family room, surrounded by a pile of baby outfits. Each dress, sweater and sleeper held sweet memories of my girls wearing them and the friends who gave them to us.
One of the disconcerting things about our current cultural moment is that people seem to have gotten very good at reading other people’s minds and determining their motivations.
Among other things, this is a driving force behind cancel culture, I think.
Inside: What made me decide to get hearing aids when I was only 50, and how this can help you make a hard change too.
“I can hear, I just can’t make out what they’re saying.”
When my dad would say this, it used to drive me batty. If you can’t hear, you can’t hear, right?
Well, um … not exactly.
My path to hearing-loss empathy began in my mid 40s when I noticed I was asking people to repeat themselves quite a lot. Especially my daughter Molly, who has a softer, higher-pitched voice.
I got my ears checked. A few years later, I got them checked again. Both exams showed some hearing loss but not enough to warrant correction.
By last summer, though, I was struggling to hear even more, and not just when Molly was talking. The audiologist discovered that one of my ears was completely full of wax. Clearing that out helped, but not completely.
Turns out, my dad was on to something. I could hear people talking, but sure enough, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. (Ironic, I know. Which is often how these things go, I’ve found.)
At first, the thought that I needed hearing aids to correct a 25-percent loss in both ears made me feel old. I was only 50 at the time. That might seem ancient to my 17-year-old daughter, but in the grand scheme of life, it’s still pretty young.
Eventually, I decided my own feelings about feeling—and possibly looking—older didn’t matter as much as my desire to hear better. I got a set of hearing aids, and—to paraphrase Robert Frost—they have made all the difference.
At restaurants. When talking with friends who have quiet voices. Outside, where cardinals and wind chimes and little chirpy animals sound so much brighter and clearer.
Even church worship services are more enjoyable, because I can actually hear myself sing again. (I didn’t realize I had lost this ability until I got it back.)
As I think about all of this a year later, I have a few thoughts to share.
First of all, if you have loved ones with hearing loss, please remember that it’s not their fault. If they have hearing aids and don’t wear them, that’s frustrating, for sure. But if they simply can’t hear, or can’t hear well even with correction, try to be patient and understanding with them.
I say this as a person who used to get hugely annoyed at my parents when they couldn’t hear me. It took me going to the hearing aid place with my dad, watching him get fitted for a new device for his one working ear and having the audiologist say that his hearing was the best it was going to get, for me to finally realize he truly was hearing as well as he could.
I wish I had come to this realization much sooner. But perhaps someone else can learn from my experience and avoid some unnecessary aggravation in the moment, as well as regret later on.
Hearing loss is part of aging—a decline we often watch our parents go through and then eventually experience ourselves. I started the process prematurely, as is my custom. But I’m thankful I took the brave (for me) step and got the hearing aids.
That said, my encouragement to you is this. No matter your age, if there is help available for a condition or issue that is bothering you, don’t be afraid to do something about it.
Make the appointment. Take the test. Stop putting it off.
Sometimes, acceptance is what’s called for, rather than a prolonged fight for answers. But whether it’s hearing loss or something else, if it’s possible for you to get better or stronger, it won’t happen by osmosis.
It often takes a bit of humility to admit you need help. But when you do, and your loved ones see you making an effort, it also sets an example to them of how to grow older gracefully.
I’m guessing my daughters aren’t thinking about any of that, however. They’re just glad they don’t have to repeat everything they say to me anymore.
♥ Lois
Hearing loss is part of aging—a decline we often watch our parents go through and then eventually experience ourselves. Share on X It takes a bit of humility to admit you need help. But when you do, and your loved ones see you making an effort, it also sets an example to them of how to grow older gracefully. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Sweet Tea & Friends, #tellhisstory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, Let’s Have Coffee and Grace & Truth.
Photo by Anna Kaminova on Unsplash