Bedtime. Kids stayed up too late. They're stalling, ignoring my repeated requests to get in bed and settle down. I didn't get enough accomplished today to feel good about myself (another neurosis for another day). Dog won't stop barking at the door all day even though there is no one there. And my clothes are all too tight-fitting. Again.
So my solution to this frustration is to snap at the little children and make one of them cry, big gushing puddles of tears. No happy tickets for me today . . .
My boy is one of those head-hits-the-pillow-and-he's-asleep types, but when bedtime is rushed and the kids are overtired, my daughter always needs one more hug, one more question, one more kiss, one more observation. Lately she has been asking about what will happen when she dies. What will happen when all the people on the earth die? Will new people be born? Will she "go to the devil?" I don't know where she got that one (I've never used those terms before). These questions, as I am sure she is aware, make me linger in her room with her for a long time while I attempt to give her meaningful answers that she can comprehend. I treasure these moments and feel completely ill-equipped to guide her at the same time.
Our Sunday school class is gearing up to start a study of Heaven by Randy Alcorn in the next couple of weeks, and I am especially looking forward to it. I read some reviews and although most people love the book, several complain that it is heavy on speculation. But, wouldn't any book about heaven be speculative? I mean, have you been there before? . . . me neither.