We keep running from the god who made us.  Is He indeed the “hound of heaven” as they say?  Is He chasing after me moment after moment, waiting for me with open arms, wounded bleeding hands?

Or is He rather sitting on a park bench, amused as I run in multiple directions, searching for something He knows I am nowhere close to finding?  Is He perhaps lighting up a cigarette, crossing His ankle over His knee, mildly interested in my daily frustrations?  Is He set on keeping quiet about the answers that would lead me in the proper direction?  Is it set in stone that I have to ask before He answers?

And if I fall from sanctity yet again, will He reach out to catch me, or will He simply shake His head as I struggle to get back on my feet?  Is there a place in Heaven for me?  Is it worth the inner turmoil?  Is it worth the suffering and loss, the setbacks, the emptiness?  Is it truly the Emerald City at the end of the yellow brick road?  Is the pathway there paved with trials?  Is that the only way?  Can’t I take the shortcut through the poppy fields and dream dream dream my way through life?

What exactly are the entrance requirements to Heaven again?  And where precisely do I stand?  What’s my status report at the moment, Lord?  Do I have enough extra curriculars on my resume?  Have I made the grades doing my daily tasks of dishes and laundry and reading aloud an extra bedtime story even when my eyes would hardly stay open?  Or is it the big events that actually matter – the SATs and ACTs of life?  I never rescued anyone from a fire, you know.  I doubt I’ve even rescued anyone from entering the flames of hell.  I know I’m not enough.  Will You accept me anyway?


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Do you ever wonder if there’s a place in Heaven for you?