Heaven on Earth

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” ~ Henry D. Thoreau


Although I’ve heard the expression ‘Heaven on earth’ many times, it was only yesterday that I realized how easily we misinterpret its meaning.

While I buy into the concept that to get to the light at the end of the tunnel one must first go through the tunnel, the cold tunnel we have gone through this year has felt endless – with sub-freezing temperatures almost everyday, and a pale sun too timid to overpower the icy grip of Old Man Winter, spring has felt like a fleeting dream which would never manifest. And instead, yesterday we finally poked our heads out to emerge into a meteorological paradise, one of those days one wants to mark on the calendar with a pink crayon. It was an amazing day – temperatures in the high sixties and bright sunshine to magically erase the gloom of the cold days gone by.

When my children got home from school, we decided to go to the park for a couple of hours. We packed a quick picnic and hopped in the car. When we pulled into the parking lot, I couldn’t believe the number of cars already there; the scene reminded me somehow of a Disney film – when Bambi was born in the spring, all the animals in the forest came out to see the new prince; Raleigh residents all came out to see if anything was new at the playground.

The kids ate and then ran off to play, while I sat on one of the benches and fished a book out of my purse. My phone rang a short while later, it was my husband calling to see what we were doing; my reply was a simple one: “We are in Heaven,” I said, “it’s amazing out here.”

After I hung up, I thought of what I said and what made me say it. Was it just the beautiful weather that had affected my perception of an ordinary day, or could it be that gradually I have come to a place in my life where I have learned to appreciate the small joys of a day playing in the sunshine? I looked around – everywhere were beautiful, smiling children and relaxed mothers, squirrels were scurrying about, and birds were making the most of a warm day in late winter. I felt like I was one with all the energy around, and the joy of it wasn’t really coming from the outside as much as it was originating within.

We can’t have a spring-like day in the winter all the time for, as my mother always said, it can’t be Christmas every day; but, maybe, we can “bottle-up” the joy of those moments and use it as a blueprint to create a slice of our own heaven on earth every day, the way children do. As I watched my kids squeal with joy on the way down the slide, drunk from a potion of youth and timeless oneness with their world in that moment, I understood the true meaning of Heaven on heart. A verse in the Bible perfectly reflects this powerful message: “Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

Granted, it’s much easier to feel good on a beautiful day when everything seems to go the right way, but if we can appreciate being in the present moment, the light at the end of the tunnel instantly becomes closer and easier to reach, whether the sun is shining or a powerful storm is raging over us.

While happiness sometimes comes with a price tag, joy is a free ride we can get on over and over, if we just allow ourselves to see with our hearts and read between the lines of our daily chapters.

Going Up

“Every day is my best day; this is my life. I am not going to have this moment again.” ~ Bernie Siegel

Just a few days ago, one of my neighbors walked by my house while I was working in the yard, and we talked for a few minutes. When she got ready to leave, I wished her a good day and resumed what I was doing; before I could turn away, she smiled and said: “ Oh, please, don’t wish me a good day; I’m glad it’s almost evening and this day is over.”

I asked her if anything was the matter, and she simply replied that nothing particularly good or bad had happened, but it had been a long day. After she was gone, I thought about what my neighbor said. Nothing monumental had happened, but here she was, walking on her own legs, breathing, and able to freely move around in a nice neighborhood at a relaxed pace – all things that someone living a harsher reality might have considered a slice of Heaven.

Her reaction was not too different from the response I’ve had from other people before, when I have asked how their day was going. “I need to find something to do to pass the day,” said one; “If I stay busy, at least the day moves faster,” said another. Are we really in such a rush to use up our days? Then what?

The average life of a human being is about 80 years, or the equivalent of about 28,000 days. By the time we have reached mid-life, we have already used approximately half of our supply, and that doesn’t factor in the fact that our number of available days could be cut down even smaller by illness or accidents.

Beginning in early childhood, we rush time – as toddlers we want to be big kids, as kids we wish to be teenagers, as teens we count days until we are adults, and as adults we fantasize about the days we will be able to retire and enjoy our golden years. By the time we get to the golden years, we wish we could turn back the clock because, quite often, we have wasted our lives maintaining our focus on the next target rather than making the most of what we had when we had it.

Imagine being in an elevator car in a museum – all floors have interesting exhibits, but as soon as we get out on one floor we are already thinking about all the neat stuff awaiting at the next level, and rush through the displays; by the time we get to the last floor, we can’t go any further, and one of the employees informs us that we need to move forward toward the exit because we can’t use the same elevator to go back down to the floors we have already visited. We leave the museum feeling that we have missed out on a lot; we could have made the most of our trip if we had taken the time to enjoy the exhibits on every floor rather than rushing through them.

In the film “Meet Joe Black”, the angel of death is thrilled at the opportunity of experiencing earthly life; a spoonful of peanut butter is interesting to him because he has never tasted it before. By the time we reach our adult years, we have experienced many things, but there are just as many we have never tried. They don’t have to be big or expensive experiences, but maybe just something outside our average routines – bringing warm socks to a state-run facility for the elderly, going to play with animals at a shelter, going to load groceries for the Angel Food Network, running meals to the disabled, trying a new, exotic food; the choice is endless, and the time commitment can be very flexible. Even a smile, a hug, or a few words exchanged with someone we normally wouldn’t entertain could make our days different and interesting.

It’s not difficult to make today a special day, one worthy of being remembered through time; and if someone is willing to eat a whole spoonful of peanut butter to try something new, we can at least be willing to dispense a genuine smile to the stranger we have ignored until now.

The Value of Hardship

“It is not good for all our wishes to be filled; through sickness we recognize the value of health; through evil, the value of good; through hunger, the value of food; through exertion, the value of rest.” ~ Greek Proverb


As I sat down to dinner, last night, my mouth watered the moment I laid eyes on the small feast set in front of me – spicy pork tenderloin with vegetables and a side of roasted potatoes, followed by a generous bowl of strawberries and freshly whipped cream. Having been extremely busy most of the day, food had been the last priority on my list, and by the time I finally sat down I was famished.

The moment I took the first bite, I almost shivered from the incredible sense of pleasure that cursed through my body. I ate the first few forkfuls with ravenous enthusiasm, deeply appreciating the full, bodacious flavors coming together in a perfect culinary marriage.

By the time I consumed the main course, most of the appreciation was gone with the hunger; when I finally finished my bowl of strawberries and cream, I was so full I couldn’t even entertain the thought of another bite. The feeling of hunger I had experienced prior to dinner was uncomfortable and making me feel edgy, yet it was the powerful force which triggered the heightened pleasure I felt when I got the opportunity to taste my meal.

Discomfort and lack, although undesirable, allow us the chance to appreciate comfort and abundance. I remember thinking about this concept a year ago, when I suffered from a pinched nerve in my neck. I could not turn my head, and every movement caused excruciating pain. I would have given anything in that moment to feel better; yet, when I am normally free of pain, that sense of wellbeing is taken for granted.

As humans we take everything for granted – our ability to move, to communicate, of being free from pain, hunger and oppression; quite often, we take love and life for granted.

Life storms give us the opportunity to appreciate the sunny days. When the sun shines for too long we become bored with it and no longer appreciate its warmth, but after a week of constant rain, nothing feels better than a bright blue sky.

While I cleaned the kitchen after dinner, I suddenly felt elated and grateful, not just for my blessings, but also for my woes, for if I never experienced hardship I would also never experience the deep pleasure that comes when good things finally manifest.

The Things We Take For Granted

I take things for granted. Most of us do, to some extent.
I thought about this last night, as I sat at the kitchen table at ten o’ clock at night, helping my oldest son with a school assignment.
Now, my son Stephen is a very good kid – sweet, compassionate, and always happy – but he has a maddening quality: he is a procrastinator. If he has a project due, it is left for the last hour of the last day before it is due, leading, of course, to a mad dash and panic to get it done on time.
I have tried to explain to him many times how he should pace himself, and try to set up a schedule to get things done; all to no avail. He means well, he really does, but he can’t help being a social butterfly, and a bouncing ball when it comes to activities.
So, here I was last night, secretly boiling inside and pouting about the fact that another evening of mine was sacrificed to his social life; then a light went off.
I thought about all those kids who are sullen and withdrawn, isolated and unable to connect to others. I thought about the meaning of being a kid, and the demands society has on kids these days. I also thought about parents who have children with illnesses, the ones whose sons and daughters are confined in a hospital room, void of energy and preoccupied with issues they shouldn’t have to worry about at their young age. Those parents would give all their possessions to have a bubbly, smiling child, and their hearts would warm quickly if they could detect a small mischievous twinkle in their own kids’ eyes.
That’s when I realized how fortunate I am.
My kids are not perfect – none of us is – but they are good, normal kids, who have been lucky enough to be born in a life void of hardship, in which they can live their childhood years worry-free, thinking about sports, games and girls.
I looked up from the paper and glimpsed at Stephen. He felt that I was staring at him, so he looked back at me a little puzzled. When he saw I was smiling he grinned and his eyes sparkled. I took his hand and told him I love him.
We finished the assignment sooner than I thought. Stephen stood up and was ready to bolt out the room to go play with his brother, but before he got to the stairs he turned around and came to give me a hug. “Thank you for helping me, Mom” he breathed in my neck. “I love you”.
Then he was gone.
I was no longer pouting. Suddenly, I was really excited about the future he, his brother and sister have ahead. They may not be the poster children for perfection, but they have good values, good thoughts, good hearts, and, most of all, they are happy children.
The rest will come with time.

The Gift of Now

In “Journey to Ixtlan", Carlos Castaneda writes about the Angel of Death as being always present near one’s left shoulder. If one turns fast enough, Castaneda writes, it is possible to catch a glimpse of the Angel, and remember to live every moment fully because it could be our last.
This past week, my friend Connie had a chance to come face to face with her own mortality. After becoming very ill because of an untreated kidney infection, she was taken to the hospital, and immediately admitted. For a few days, her doctors struggled to keep the infection under control, and her condition seemed to deteriorate by the minute.
Saying that Connie was terrified is a serious understatement. She knew her body was shutting down, and everything she had taken for granted was quickly spiraling out of control. Connie thought she was going to die.
When I spoke with her, the first words out of her mouth were about her children. She was afraid of how they would cope if something happened to her, and also realized how much she missed simply having them around. She talked of the times she got angry with them over trivial things, when she could have instead told them how much she loved them.
Having three children myself, I totally understand the frustrations of parenting. Yet, Connie’s ordeal seriously made me think.
What if something was to happen to me, and I wasn’t able to connect to all the people I love or respect before leaving this earthly plane? Would they know how much I care about them? If I was to die tomorrow, would it really matter that my three-year-old daughter flooded the bathroom today, or that my husband didn’t throw his dirty socks in the hamper this morning?
We spend such a large portion of our lives worrying about things that don’t matter, that we lose focus of what is truly important. We hold grudges against people we love over unimportant matters, and never think that we may not have another chance to make amends.
After talking to Connie, I thought about my own family, my children, my parents who live far away. I realized that many times I hang up the phone without telling my husband that I love him, I choose housework over going to the park with my children, I forget to call my parents and friends because I am too busy. I never think that those simple actions could be the last chance I have to let them know how I feel. If something suddenly happened to me – or them – those perfect opportunities would be lost forever.
We are programmed to allow life's circumstances to take over, to focus on making the next dollar as if it is the last chance we have to become rich, and we forget that it is up to us to appreciate each moment and the subtle blessings that surround us at all times. The dishes will still be there the next day, and the paperwork will be waiting for us when we get back, but will our loved ones be there tomorrow? Or even later today?
Each moment of our lives that is not fully appreciated is a moment we have wasted; it's a gift we have not accepted; it's an opportunity that may be lost forever.