A Dream of Heaven

I dreamed of heaven. In this place that is always light, in this place where there are no chains, in this place of laughter and praise, I dreamed of sitting in peace. I looked down and there across my palms were stained the words "sin" and "pain." From the words scrolled tattoos of leaves and plants tangling 'round my wrists. The pain and sin of life on earth marked me, but did not scar me. I remembered it, but I did not feel it. And from the pain and sin, beauty had grown around it, from it.

To get to Paradise, Dante had to walk through the Inferno.

Before sailing to the Haven, Frodo had to climb Mt. Doom.

To be redeemed, Sydney Carton had to go to the guillotine.

For our relationship to be right with God, Jesus hung on a cross.

For us to truly understand perfection, perhaps we had to know imperfection. For us to appreciate true beauty, perhaps we had to first know suffering and ugliness.

In my dreams, I dreamed of heaven. The vines tattooed on my wrist did not bind me, but reminded me. They told the story of the depths of pain, but also the riches of forgiveness, beauty, redemption and the perfection of being made whole.