And, really, was not their hope my own? Haunted by scripture story, I believe in my bones that what was true then must still be true now, else why would it matter at all?
Nazareth, a place where angels nested in the hills. Bethlehem where God came disguised as a child. Emma's, along that road where a Third drew alongside and caused hearts to burn within. Angels, a Christ Child, a Risen Lord. Is this what makes a Holy Land? A place where heaven has bent down to touch earth? Once and now…there and here?
How far away might heaven be (if such things can be measured)? Cast beyond the farthest star? But, then, a star came close, as the story goes, and stopped to mark the place. An infinite horizon, ever receding, never to be attained? Or as close as the nearest rise? A "thin place,” as the Celts would say, where this world and that other World are as close as the warm breath you see upon the cold air.
"This side of heaven,” that’s the closest I can come to describing where it is we live. But there are times, I confess, when I get lost and wonder just where lies that line between worlds. It was not I who has ever done the crossing, but heaven and angels, they are hard to contain and wander where they will. There have been times, I think, when they have shown up and even lingered and I only ever guessed at their presence after they had left, Emma's-like.
This side of heaven. That was the phrase I remember Randall* used some years ago when he said goodbye. "We’ll meet again, Missy. It won’t be this side of heaven, but we will meet again." Some things you just know are true. Randall’s words were one of those. I have never forgotten.
Was it just two months ago? I thought of his words even as I heard her speak. At 91, my sister-in-law, Carolyn, knew her time on this side would be short. As was her way, she was making the goodbye easy. "I don't know if I'll see you again," she said with a wry smile, "but this being married to the Micheline boys, it's been quite the adventure." A shared laugh and then a hug.
Now we were back for her funeral. Gathered at graveside, we came forward in turn for a last goodbye. Surrounded by family, under barren arch of trees I whispered words once said to me:
I will see you again, my sister. It won’t be this side of heaven, but I will see you again.
Written with love for Carolyn Mae Micheline, 1930-2021
* For those of you who have never read or want to re-read the story of Randall, it is in the newsletter from Sept. 11, 2018. You may click here
