And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am.
— John 14:3 NIV

Through Christ’s resurrection, we have been given the wonderful promise that all those who believe in Him will never die but will have eternal life. We have been assured that death for those who have faith is not a closed-door ending of existence but rather a wide-open entry into a glorious, new, unending, joyful life with the Lord. And all of our beloved sisters- and brothers-in-Christ will join us there in that divine realm where there is no more sorrow or sickness or suffering.

Our finite, mortal minds could never comprehend what immortal life will really be like. Still, it is pleasant to imagine the possibilities.

Whenever I try to envision Heaven, I think of a singular August day, many years ago, when my late dear friend Jon Atkins and I co-chaired our church’s annual “Picnic in the Park.”

If I close my eyes, I can easily transport myself back to that picture-perfect Sunday, with its azure blue sky, ethereal white clouds, golden-glow sunlight, pleasantly-warm temperatures, and soothing-soft breezes. I can hear so clearly the whistling strains from a circus calliope tooting tunes in showboat fashion all across the park. I can see the smiling children enjoying a jumping Bounce House, face painting, and pony rides, while, in an adjacent grassy field, teenagers are intently competing in three-legged and relay races, frisbee toss, and tug-of-war. The irresistible aroma of freshly-popped popcorn, courtesy of a bright-red, vintage popcorn machine, is wafting through the air.

Under the picnic pavilion, a local catering service has arranged a divine buffet of fried chicken, baked beans, corn on the cob, cabbage slaw, and hot, fresh-from-the-oven country biscuits. People are eagerly queuing up to the table to partake of these mouth-watering delicacies. At the other end of the pavilion, a group of talented, octogenarian musicians and soloists perform “oldies-but-goodies” songs and classic Big Band sounds, to which some attendees have paired off and are dancing. At a certain point, longtime, faithful choir members Alec and Jane Miller, who loved to sing, step up to present their rendition of “I Remember It Well,” from the musical Gigi. Enchanting!

All ages from the youngest set through seniors represented in this harmonious gathering — each one seemingly carefree, thrilled to be there with family and friends, grateful for the blessings of the day.

I will always remember the precise moment of that long ago day when Dr. Lewis Galloway, our newly-installed pastor, arrived at the park. Standing there beside me, surveying the idyllic scene, he remarked, “You know, Mary, I bet this is what Heaven’s going to be like.” I couldn’t have agreed more. A sublime sea of smiles in a land of limitless light, laughter, and love.

Picnic in the Park. A coming attraction of the Paradise that God has prepared for us? I have confidence in the thought. After all, the word “paradise” comes from the Latin paradisus and the Greek paradeisos, both of which mean “a park.”

The Prayer Perfect

Dear Lord! Kind Lord!
Gracious Lord! I pray
Thou wilt look on all
I love tenderly today!
Weed their hearts of weariness,
Scatter every care
Down a wake of Angel-wings
Winnowing the air.
Bring unto the sorrowing
All release from pain;
Let the lips of laughter
Overflow again;
And with all the needy,
O divide, I pray,
This vast treasure of content
That is mine today!

James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916), American writer, poet, author

Dear Readers,

This morning, I’ve been out in my garden, soaking up the gorgeous sunshine the Lord is sending down to us today. Things are humming out there! The hibiscus, phlox, daisies, and Black-eyed Susan’s are making a veritable rainbow of bright and cheerful colors, and attracting butterflies and bumblebees by the score. My elephant ears are thriving — giant, graceful, and green — and the birds, the beautiful birds, were singing their hearts out. Overhead could be heard a pileated woodpecker rat-tat-tapping on the trunk of a juniper. An observant little squirrel, perched on a high branch of an adjacent cedar tree, watched me for a long time. I spoke quietly to him, and he didn’t seem to be at all afraid. He just sat there and looked at me. The neighbor’s well-groomed poodle was gamboling back and forth in his yard, leaping with joy, grinning from ear to ear, yipping and barking at anything that moved. He’s a happy camper!

The sights and sounds in my backyard have given me such a welcome sense of comfort and peace. I’ve been reminded that, in spite of our current challenges — worrisome and frightening though they are — our world is still full of good things for us to enjoy and be glad about.

Been thinking back to a long-ago meeting at my church when Henry, one of our most respected Elders, gave the opening prayer. Henry, who often portrayed in local productions the famous writer James Whitcomb Riley, recited the Hoosier Poet’s “The Prayer Perfect” (printed above). Perfect it was that evening, and perfect it is today. I will always remember Henry’s impeccable delivery of the beautiful words of that prayer — dramatic and moving. It was as if Riley himself were standing there speaking to us, blessing us with grateful and loving thoughts.

“The Prayer Perfect” says everything I’m feeling today. Hope you all will find it meaningful, too.

Here’s to Life!

Mary

Dear Readers,

The article printed below was written by my late father (1918-2017) and appeared in The Indianapolis Star, MY INDIANA section, on Monday, February 26, 2007, page A9.

Dad’s recollection seems especially appropriate today, as we enjoy yet another (the 110th) running of the Indianapolis 500 Mile Race.

Sound of music and home

It was in Luxembourg City when thoughts of Indiana came back with a rush, and homesickness hit me hard. It was 1944, World War II, and I had just been re-assigned to a unit located deep in Germany. From northeastern France, I set out alone, dependent on the Transportation Corps to get there.

Initially, I was assigned temporary quarters with other military personnel in Luxembourg. One morning, hoping to ease my yearning for family, I sat down at a piano in the lobby and ran through my usual medley of tunes, including, “Back Home Again in Indiana,” by Ballard MacDonald and James Hanley.

Suddenly, a young soldier came rushing in and said, “I heard the music, ‘Back Home Again in Indiana!’ Are you from Indiana? I am, too!” At that brief moment, coincidentally finding a fellow Hoosier, though many miles away in Luxembourg, I was home.

Every May, when I hear Jim Nabors sing the familiar refrain at the Indianapolis 500, I am immediately transported back to that day long ago when that famous Indiana song came to mean home to me.

– Kenneth R. Woolling, M.D., Indianapolis