It doesn’t feel much like heaven now,
Though I get glimpses of it.
Those who nearly die
And have visions of heaven, or hell —
Live transformed by gratitude.
I don’t know why
Some see heaven
And others do not.
Perhaps we have to train
Our hearts and eyes.
Perhaps we need to deliberately
Of seeming coincidences
As real miracles.
We have forgotten our wonder,
Filled with self-importance,
Thinking we are the only creators.
What a heavy burden to bear!
Do you ever stare
At the moving clouds,
The Creator of the universe,
the one who made quarks and galaxies,
amoebas and humans,
can live in you!
Ask Him today to make Himself real to you!
The earth is not my home,
Nor any special land.
Though my heart beats strong
In many places,
In lands where I know many faces —
Still, none can I call home.
Heaven is my home,
Though it I’ve never seen,
Except, when the Creator set
My soul upon earth’s scene.
Heaven is my home,
Seen only in my dreams,
Through mists of time,
Through clouds sublime,
In half-heard tunes
Under bright-lit moons,
In sideways glances
And angels’ dances.
And so, when I go home,
I hope you’ll soon come, too;
On angels’ wings, as choirs sing —
We’ll all be finally home.
What is the beauty in a flower?
What draws me to its fragrant bliss?
All I can think, and only this —
It praises Father every hour.
Why do the mountains call to me?
Why so majestic, bold, and grand?
They often tell me of His plan,
His might and power, His purpose grand.
Why does the ocean call to me?
Why crashing waves do beckon still?
Only because my Savior’s voice
Is hidden in their mighty power.
Why do I till and dig the earth?
Now planting seeds that will give birth?
Because the seed that once seemed dead
Will bring new life upon the earth.
Now every day He speaks to me
In seed and flower, in meadows bright.
Though blind and deaf I tend to be
His light and love will make me right.