Does He really love me?

Today I meant to write about breadboards. It goes with eating, kitchens, and in particular, being sanitary and preserving the expensive wood. Instead, I'm going to expose myself to all sorts of ridicule and scorn by throwing to the world a question about a very popular and compelling book: Heaven is for Real.

Let me say first off, it doesn't matter what religion, gospel or aura a person believes in. A person should believe in enlightenment, no matter what form it takes. An investigator studies a subject from all angles. So should we. Thus, I read lots of theology, because I like to be informed when I'm talking to people of different faiths (it's also a bit more respectful, and I don't like being an ignoramous). Now, as my mother says, "don't preach. I want breezy!"

He does love me
So I liked Heaven is for Real, for about 20 minutes after I finished the last page. This is when I sunk in to a slight funk that lasted nearly two weeks. The world went a bit more grey than is usual for Washington. My heart felt sad. It was like an extended blood sugar level dip. In my wierd, analytical way, I retraced my steps and it led me to the time I read the book. What was it, I wondered, that was causing me to be dissapointed when I should have been uplifted and encouraged? It wasn't that that the kid was Protestant (for He appears to all. Could have been anyone). Nor was it a jealously thing (or who would want their kid to die in order to have an afterlife experience). Here was the big reveal. The center of my sadness is the number of times in this book, and in other book that mention Jesus, that He loves the children. Over and over this message is given.

Now, I'm not a complete dunce. I fully understand that the little children are God's greatest gift, innocent and pure. Unafflicted with the nasty characteristics adults can develop. The irony being of course, as we grow, learn and develop, that we must remain humble, open, trusting, loving and sensitive to the needs of others, just as we were as a child. The reality, for me anyway, is that I may never, in this life, return to the land of innocence, the times of yore where I can shrug off hurt, the scars of bad mistakes, and dismiss the noise in my life that leads me to unconsciously ignore the soft signs of a friend hurting, a relative in need or my own child wanting to hold my hand. The sadness stemmed from the realization and real fear that I won't be good enough to meet the standards of the Lord, and I will therefore be left behind. The circle of love will be closed to me, and I'll be standing outside of it.

All the teachings tell me otherwise. I am loved equally to all others on this Earth. The rational part of my mind didn't reconcile with my heart for weeks. My closure came only with the simple truths. My prayers are answered. My life is blessed in many ways. I feel guided in many ways, through simple promptings that help me good decisions. That's what I experience and it's real. So much so that my dear, unbelieving and somewhat sarcastic husband never fails to remind me to pray or go to church, since he says our "life is so much better when you do." Nothing is a clearer sign than I am loved than that.