houses

If I Win the Lottery . . .

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If I win the lottery, I won’t go around posting it all over social media. But there would be signs. Just perhaps a modest little cabin in the woods, right?

Truthfully, I do fantasize about owning a home like this. Even though the chances of me living here are about the same as me winning the lottery (or me getting struck by lightning), it’s still fun to picture myself in my red plaid robe walking down those front steps (that are hopefully not iced over like in the picture).

But then I remember Jesus said that in His Father’s house are many rooms, although I prefer the old King Jimmy version that calls them mansions. Whatever I can conjure up in my mind as being over the top ornate and opulent, heaven will be better. It will be a thousand times more incredible than any episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous with all its champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

But the best part of all won’t be the streets of gold or all the gates with precious stones. It will be seeing Jesus there. The joy of every longing heart will be made sight and the hope of the world will wipe away every tear from our eyes in a place where there is no more need for grieving.

That’s what I look forward to more than anything else. I long for no more bad news. I long for no more reports of murder and bloodshed and war and hatred and unrest. I long for when the lion can lie down with the lamb in peace and safety.

But if it’s God’s will for me to live in the cabin pictured above, I’d do my best to suffer through it for the Lord and put on my best face in the attempt. One can dream, can’t one?

The Houses that Built Me

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A couple of years ago, my family got the opportunity to revisit some of the old houses where I lived, as well as my grandparents’ houses. It was a fun trip down memory lane, but I realized one thing.

I didn’t get the wave of nostalgia that I was expecting. Some of the houses had changed quite a bit, but some looked the same. The difference was that the people I loved weren’t there anymore. Some have moved away, some have gone to heaven.

It wasn’t the brick and mortar that I truly loved. It was the people inside. It was the memories we made within the walls of each of the houses. Today, if I were given the chance to wander through these houses, I doubt I’d recognize very much. I’m sure a lot has changed in the 30+ years since I was last there.

Sometimes, I think I want to step into the past, if only for a moment. I just want to be a fly on the wall and revisit some old memories. I just want to see the faces and hear their stories. The older I get, the more trouble I have remembering what they looked like or what their voices sounded like.

But I’m thankful. I’m grateful for everything I learned, every experience I had in these places, both good and bad. I think who I am now was shaped by the people who lived there. I carry a little bit of each and every one of them with me.

One of the rewards of heaven will be seeing all the old faces again. Maybe they’ll all be young again. They will have all their memories back. They won’t be fragile or in pain. It will be just like old times — even better, since Jesus will be there.

I hope that the people living in those homes are making new memories. Maybe one day a long time from now, someone will drive up and instantly be able to conjure up a million scenes from the past that they can think about and smile.