Heaven

I woke up with a song in my heart this morning, so in spite of the fact that Cliff was still sleeping, I picked up my guitar and started right in on "Mansion Over the Hilltop".  I love singing that happy , lively song, but it reminds me of some thoughts I used to have as a child.

By the time I was twelve, I was paying pretty close attention to the sermons in Church.  Now, I was raised in the Church of Christ, so lots of the sermons seemed to be about what was wrong with the Baptists, Methodists, "holy-rollers", and... worst of all... CATHOLICS!... otherwise known as "the antichrist".  But sometimes a preacher would talk about heaven.  

Many of the hymns we sang were about heaven's streets of gold and mansions.

*disclaimer:  I'm not trying to put down the Church of Christ.  I wouldn't trade my upbringing for that of anybody else.  I still love a cappela singing, too.

I'd try my best to picture the golden streets, but usually became bored after a few seconds because it just didn't sound that great to me.  Even today it doesn't.  I've never longed for a mansion... too much upkeep!  OK, if you're rich enough for a mansion, I suppose you can afford a maid, but I don't want that either, because hired house-keepers and maids will gossip, and I live in a small community where gossip spreads quickly.  If you have shared a secret with one or two people in a small town, you may as well assume the whole town knows it now.   

But I digress. 

The gold streets?  Seriously, does that sound like fun to you?  If my horse Blue is waiting for me in heaven, I hope he has wings, because he'd slip and slide down every hill on streets of gold.  

As I grew older, I painted a picture in my own mind of what I wanted heaven to be, and doggoned if it didn't end up looking a lot like where I live right now.  Lately, even that scenario has changed, although I still like to think of my home as a little piece of heaven, clutter and all.

These days I want to go to Grandma's house when I die.  I hope she has a house on 40 acres in heaven that looks and feels just like the home she had in Harrison County, Missouri.  The silence was amazing there.  She lived off the beaten path with very few cars passing. and if one did, all you heard was the crunch of gravel.  She never had a television, although she had a couple of "soaps" she listened to on the radio in the afternoon.  She crocheted while she listened to them, because she wasn't one to sit and do nothing (I didn't inherit that trait).  I'd walk outside and wander through the woods across the road and wade in the creek, talking to myself occasionally (I stopped wading in the creek after the leeches, though).  

I'd walk down the road to Zion Church of Christ and walk right in, because it was never locked up; on a hot summer day it felt about ten degrees cooler than outside.  

When I saw a path leading into somebody's field, I'd follow it to see where it would take me, never thinking about the fact I might be on private property.  I strolled around Grandma's pasture, seeing the cows graze.  In the evening as the sun set, Whippoorwills called to one another.  What a wonderful sound!  Grandma, like most grandmothers back then, wore her hair in a bun, but when it was almost bedtime she'd let her hair down and brush it.  Just before bed she liked to read a chapter from the Bible, and then she'd write in her diary something like this:  "Was hot.  Donna is here.  Picked green beans today."

And I'd go to sleep in a feather bed, worn out from my travels, anticipating a new tomorrow.  

Yeah.  When I die, I just want to go to Grandma's house.

For a lady named Mary

I've been struggling to find anything lately to blog about, but one of my readers, Mary, left a comment here today that has given me a topic.  Here it is: 

"Donna, you sometimes write as if you think of yourself as a person with antisocial & rude tendencies. Having read your blog for years (I still think of you as Mosie), your actions never bear that out. Perhaps you feel awkward at times among others who you believe are OTHERS, but still you appear to be a nice & even generous person who happens to view herself too harshly." 

Now, you can tell from the tone of the comment that this lady is a kind and considerate person.  From what I've seen of her (she's a former blogger who just recently began blogging again) she is someone I wouldn't mind meeting.  I was going to respond to her by email, but as I say, I'm in a dry spell here in this Blogger jungle and I'm grasping at straws.

I'm not so sure I've ever referred to myself as antisocial, although I have tendencies in that direction, especially in winter.  And much of the time when I'm rude, it's accidental.  I AM a loner and introvert, but half the population is introverted to some extent, according to the Internet sources, some folks more so than others.  Here's an example of how I can be rude without realizing it.  

When I'm out shopping, I put myself in a bubble.  My own daughter could walk right past me and I wouldn't know it, because I deliberately shut people out when I'm in a crowd.  That's how I deal with it.  I sometimes don't speak to people I know (because I don't see them), so I've been considered stuck-up.  I'm one of those people who gets in your way in a crowded aisle because I don't even realize people are there wanting to get past me.  

Standing in the checkout line, I will stand daydreaming and crowd the person ahead of me without ever knowing it; when Cliff is with me, he'll tell me what I'm doing and I'll back off.  The other day he wasn't with me in Walmart and I caught myself pushing my cart farther ahead than I should have, barely giving the poor lady ahead of me room to use her debit card.  When I realized what I was doing I said, "Oh, I'm so sorry I've been crowding you.  Sometimes I just get in my own little world.  I'm sorry."  And I backed up.

"I can tell," she huffed.

"I really am so sorry," I said.  

She grumbled something else, paid for her purchase, and left.  

I felt terrible about it, but the customer behind me in line said, "Well, I accept your apology in her place."

The lady at the register agreed with her.  Of course, I was embarrassed, but their kind comments helped.  

"Oh well, we don't know what that lady is going through today, do we?"  I said, and made a mental note to pay more attention to those around me at the checkout.  Better yet, I'll make sure Cliff goes in with me.  

Now, about my being such a WONDERFUL person... you've never met me.  Of course I'm not going to write in my blog about the hissy-fit I threw at some friend or relative, or the way I pout and won't speak to folks sometimes when I'm mad.  Anybody who's known me personally for very long has seen that only-child side of me more than once.  It's there in the background all the time.  I don't mention it on my blog when Cliff and I have a disagreement, unless I can put some funny or positive spin on it.  Few people are going to air their dirty laundry on a public blog.  So perhaps I do come off looking better than I really am.  

I'm not such a bad person, but I often don't deal well with people.  Somewhere along the line I decided to be myself and accept who I am, because I don't know how to be anyone else.  And since I do accept myself, sometimes I make light of my faults here on the blog.  I don't feel I'm putting myself down.  

Of all the Apostles in the Bible, Peter is my favorite because he was always sticking his foot in his mouth, just like me.  I figure if Jesus could put up with Peter, He ought to be able to accept me too.

Just remember, Mary, you don't know anybody if you've only seen them online.  I sometimes refer to my peculiar ways to keep things honest.  I don't want to be guilty of painting myself as perfect, wonderful, generous... of course I have good points.  And I have some bad ones you haven't even guessed at.  

I'm human.

Thanks for the input, my friend.  I missed your comments during the years you were gone, and I'm happy to have you back.  

Peace.