As a child, I never understood why old people wanted to sing about heaven.
I remember the sturdy resonance of my grandfather’s bass voice as we sang in unison in the one-room country church. His voice was so strong that my baby sister would cry when he tried to sing to her; but I loved it. It stood for everything that was home and security.
Every Sunday we’d sing one of the ‘heaven’ standards: In the Sweet By and By, When the Roll is Called Up Yonder, Beulah Land, or I’ll Fly Away. My favorite was When We All Get to Heaven – not because I liked the song, but because our song leader was also the pastor who made up for his lack of singing ability with enthusiasm.
The older I get, the more I understand this longing for heaven — I see clearly now that our world is broken.
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