One day in Heaven, we will see Christ in His glory. The most exhilarating experiences on Earth, such as white-water rafting, skydiving, or extreme sports, will seem tame compared to the thrill of seeing Jesus. Being with Him. Gazing at Him. Talking with Him. Worshiping Him. Embracing Him. Eating with Him. Walking with Him. Laughing with Him. Imagine it!
In my novel Dominion, I picture one of the characters, Dani, seeing Christ as she enters Heaven:
At the doorway into life stood a shining being of natural radiance, but with the brightness of a million klieg lights. The radiance threatened to blind her, but somehow her new eyes could endure it. This was more than a man, yet clearly a man. She knew at once who it was. He who had been from eternity past, He who had left His home in heaven to make one here for her. He who spun the galaxies into being with a single snap of his fingers, who was the light that illumined darkness with a million colors, who turned midnight into sunrise...
“Welcome, my little one!” He smiled broadly, the smile teeming with approval. “Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter into the kingdom prepared for you. Enter into the joy of your Lord!”
He hugged her tight and she hugged him back, clutching on to His back, then grasping His shoulders. She didn’t know how long it lasted. These same arms had hugged her before, somehow—she recognized their character and strength—but she enjoyed the embrace now as she’d never dreamed she could enjoy any embrace. It was complete, utterly encompassing, a wall of protection no force in the universe could break through. His was the embrace she was made for. He was the Bridegroom, the object of all longing, the fulfillment of all dreams.
“My sweet Jesus,” she said…
“Your hand.” She looked at the other. “Both hands. And your feet.” He allowed her to contemplate what she saw.
These were the hands of a Carpenter who cut wood and made things, including universes and angels and every person who had ever lived. These same hands once hauled heavy lumber up a long lonely hill. These same hands and feet were once nailed to that lumber in the Shadowlands, in the most terrible moment from the dawn of time. The wound that healed all wounds could make them temporary only by making itself eternal. Hands and feet of the only innocent man became forever scarred so that no guilty one would have to bear his own scars.
She saw His pain. An ancient pain that was the doorway to eternal pleasures. Understanding rushed upon her and penetrated her mind as the howling wind had penetrated every crack in her bedroom in that old ramshackle Mississippi home. She wept again, dropping to His marred feet and caressing them with her hands. He put His fingers under her chin and turned her eyes up toward His.
“For you,” He said to her, “I would do it all again.”
…They talked long, just the two of them, without hurry and without distraction. A circle of people surrounded them, waiting for them to finish. But she did not want to finish. She was held captive by one face.
