There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about heaven. Thoughts about heaven float through my head and course through my conversations because of what I discover on the news—mass shootings in government-sponsored buildings and schools and colleges.
I think about heaven in conversations with my wife, Kris, who is a psychologist and hears stories day after day about sexual abuse and family dysfunction—between siblings, between parents, between parents and children.
I think about heaven when I’m reading books about the Bible and theology that far too rarely deal with the realities of pain and suffering and injustice that many of us feel on a daily basis. What does heaven mean for the divorced and the children who suffer, sometimes profoundly, as a result of their perception of betrayed love? What does it mean for children who go to sleep in a pillow soaked with tears praying that Daddy will come back home?
I think about heaven when I think about aging parents and grandparents and when I think of those struck with cancers and debilitating diseases, and I think about heaven when others tell me stories about the death of their loved ones, and when they ask, “What are they doing now? Can they see us? Are they happy? Are they asleep or awake and thriving in the presence of God?”
What does heaven mean for the 57 million babies in America who have been aborted since Roe v. Wade, or for the more than 1 billion babies who have been aborted worldwide just in the past 40 years? Will there be reconciliation between babies and mothers in heaven?