While I was in England recently visiting our son Hans and his young family, we began chatting about the Garden of Eden. We wondered aloud about its only residents, Eve and Adam, the mother and father of the entire human race. What did they look like? Were they tall? Small? Dark skinned? Light? Were they children? Teens? Twenty-somethings?

Enjoying our discussion, we talked about their language. Without ever pondering this before, I’ve always assumed they spoke English, a thought that seems comical now. But what, then, did they speak? Was it Hebrew? Greek? Aramaic? We decided it was probably none of those.

Most likely it was a language unknown today. Hans got me laughing when he said, “Maybe it was the language of clicks and whistles,” and then gave me his best impression. We agreed it was too late for either of us to master that one.

Nate spoke fluent Russian, having been a Russian minor in college. Although he downplayed his accomplishment, when he visited Russia, he successfully spoke it, was easily understood and was able to understand native speakers in return. He was fluent all right. And one of the reasons was his continual review of his flashcards, worn and dog-eared from ongoing use.

All of our children have studied foreign languages in school, but most can’t use it beyond Taco Bell or The Olive Garden. Although a two year old can become fluent in any language in less than a year, the rest of us need multiples of that time to speak even a little. The older we get, the harder it is to make a new language “stick”.

It’s even difficult (and can be risky) traveling in a foreign country where we can’t read signs or understand speech. Mary and I once got so lost in Sweden we thought we’d have to spend the night under a bridge. Although we had a car, a full gas tank, Swedish money and two fairly good brains, without the language it was a hopeless situation.

I’ve so loved listening to 22 month old Skylar learn English. Yesterday we walked the four short blocks to my mailbox with Skylar running circles around the rest of us, Linnea, Micah, Louisa, Birgitta, Jack the dog and me. One of us said, “It’s a little chilly.”

Skylar, a keen listener, immediately picked up on it. “It’s a little chilly, Mommy. It’s a little chilly, Weez. It’s a little chilly, Gitta. It’s a little chilly, Midgee.” As she skipped along, she repeated these new words 20 times over until we were stumbling along the road with laughter. But Skylar was simply learning a language.

No doubt heaven will have its own language made up of words none of us could ever find in an earthly textbook. When we first arrive there, however, and are still learning to speak it, there will be a way to commune with the Lord and each other as we’re bursting to share our joy at being in the presence of God. We’ll be able to use the universal language: music.

“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness.” (Psalm 100:1-2a)

In the homes of England there is an endless variety of stunning glass windows. The entry halls, back doors and garage doors often have panels of “privacy glass” made blurry by patterns an ice skater might have etched with her blades. These are not colored or stained glass but clear panes into which designs have been “drawn”. The array is limitless, each one calling to come close and appreciate its unique beauty.

Despite the fact that we had to capture a massive bumble bee yesterday after he slipped through an open window, generally people in North England don’t need screens. The windows are big, to let in an abundance of natural light in this country famous for its cloudy days, and my admiration knows no bounds.

British etched glass is double-paned, and often the windows are without curtains. After all, no one can clearly see through a bumpy piece of glass. The bathrooms, especially, have gorgeous windows. Since we’ve had a week full of sunshine, the splendor of the patterns when filled with light coming through has absolutely mesmerized me.

Meant to discourage people from looking in, the wavy glass is effective. It can, however, be an annoyance for the same reason. If you’re expecting a friend and can see someone standing beyond the glass but can’t quite identify who it is, it’s a little unnerving.

Sometimes I read Scripture the same way I look through the patterned glass, ending up with a wiggly or blurred comprehension. It’s easy to grasp the general idea of the verses but difficult to see the deeper meaning on the second, third or fourth level. My heart longs to get better at that. I’m continually asking the Lord to help me, and once in a while he opens my understanding to really “get it.” When that happens, it’s one of life’s paramount experiences.

Some of the first sentences we’ll speak in heaven will probably be, “Ohhh. I see it now. It’s so clear. Of course!”

People we know who’ve already died and beat us to heaven are privileged to know much more than we do. Nate is in that crowd, and I’m thankful for his increased clarity. As for the rest of us, I’m sure God has an important reason for tempering our understanding, allowing us only bits and pieces while we’re here on earth. We’ll see the logic of that, too, after we’re in glory.

In the mean time, just as I take pleasure in looking through the ripply glass windows of England, I’ll continue to enjoy studying Scripture and looking for the usually-but-not-always hidden meanings buried in God’s inspired words. More than likely, just a few of those is all I can bear to “see” for now.
“For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all.” (Luke 8:17)

I often think of Nate and his present-day surroundings. He’s six months gone from us, which translates to six months in the presence of Jesus. Oh, how I wish I knew the extent of his experience! Scripture gives us an inkling, but for the most part, it’s all a question mark.

While walking the Lake Michigan wave-line today, I kept my eyes on the stones, as always. Because of winter’s wild waves, beach glass and choice rocks can easily be found at this time of year. Although I carried a collection bag, my mind was a million miles away, and I hadn’t picked up a single stone.

While I was walking in a familiar place, where was Nate walking? What was he doing? He’s already met Jesus and no doubt has been supernaturally humbled, falling to the ground as we all will when we see our Lord. But has that face-to-the-floor humility continued until now?

My uneducated guess is that once we’ve been brought into a completely right relationship with Jesus, he’ll touch us on the shoulder the way he did John (Revelation 1:17) and say, “Don’t be afraid. Let me show you some of the marvels of paradise and tell you things that will astound you.”

What has Nate seen? What has he been told? Is he gasping with delight? Weeping with gratitude? Singing praise on key? Laughing in unbounded joy?

Is he being told of specific times a guardian angel saved him from accidents? Is he being shown how his prayers were answered? Is he being given the exact meaning of every parable Jesus taught, both the biblical ones and the ones that never got written down? Is he receiving answers to all of his earthly “why” questions?

As I walked along the beach, I felt left out. I know I’m headed for the same miraculous experiences Nate is now having and wouldn’t dream of rushing God’s time table to get there, but I just wanted to understand even part of what was happening to him today. That’s all.

Watching hundreds of stones pass beneath my toes as I walked but picking up none, my eye suddenly landed on something special. Not even half an inch long, it was a stone of nondescript grey. The reason this tiny rock caught my eye, though, was its square shape and the perfect heart carved inside it.

I picked it up and stared at it. As I did, God flooded my mind with a message. “I realize you’re frustrated not knowing what’s happening to Nate. You’re also bothered by not being able to see me, and my interaction with him. You’d love to listen in on our conversation, wouldn’t you? But what about the conversation I’m trying to have with you today? See that stone in your hand? With a million rocks under your feet, what were the odds you’d find that one?”

I knew the answer: a million to one. Although there’s much I don’t know, I do know one critical thing. Jesus loves me. And as I turned toward home, I contributed to the conversation by saying, out loud, “Lord, I know you love me, and I’m thankful for that. I love you, too.”

“You love him even though you have never seen him. Though you do not see him now, you trust him; and you rejoice with a glorious, inexpressible joy.” (1 Peter 1:8)

Some people would say I’ve got rocks in my head, probably with rock-solid reasons. There’s no end to my fascination with stones. Despite there being unnumbered practical uses for rocks, their real appeal is their striking colors and patterns, each telling a tale of origin. God gets all the credit, and collecting and appreciating stones is, in my mind, an activity bordering on worship.

Tonight Jack and I returned from several days in Chicago and couldn’t wait to get back to the beach. I biked, he ran, and we arrived an hour ahead of the sunset. At the water line we were greeted with the mother-lode of beach stones as far as the eye could see. Never without a plastic bag in my pocket (available for collection of dog-product or stones, whichever comes first), I dropped to my knees and began picking through the bounty. Speckled, black, pink, gold, fossil-imprinted, pearl-like, striped and flecked. What’s not to love?

While bagging rocks, I sometimes think of the biblical description of the New Heaven. Part of that description is a list of the different stones God will use to build it:

• sapphire
• emerald
• carnelian
• chrysolite
• beryl
• topaz
• amethyst
• jacinth
• chrysoprase
• jasper
• agate
• onyx
• pure gold, as clear as glass

After studying descriptions of each of these foundational stones, I realized the majority of them are “see-through.” As someone who is moved by the beauty of earthly rocks, I can’t imagine the thrill of gazing at a city with walls and foundations constructed from these precious stones. I don’t think I could even look at it without a bag to breathe into. That’s probably just one of the many reasons we can’t be transported to heaven without first being changed.

I fully believe the wonders of heaven will knock us flat, even before we get a glimpse of God the Father or Jesus the Son. After all, several biblical personalities were given a quick peek, and falling flat was exactly what happened to them.

When I think about the splendor of heaven, I wonder how much of it Nate has already been allowed to take in. And has he yet been permitted to look in the direction of God’s throne room? Revelation 4 describes this incredible scene in terms of stones, too: “The one sitting on the throne was as brilliant as gemstones… and the glow of an emerald circled his throne like a rainbow.”

While I’m waiting for the overall transformation necessary to witness this wonder (the same change Nate has already experienced through death), I’m content to hunt for striking beach stones that are, for now, as stunning as I can stand.

“But let me reveal to you a wonderful secret. We will not all die, but we will all be transformed! It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye…Those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed.” (1 Corinthians 15:51-52)