Sometimes You Want To Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name...And They're Always Glad You Came

First off: we arrived home yesterday at about 8:30 (pause for collective sigh of relief from two mother/grandmothers who still worry about our safety). The snowy roads ended about 45 minutes outside the city, so we had quite clear sailing most of the way home. Winterpeg indeed.

The typical "blech-it's-Monday" feelings, which are always more pronounced after a long weekend, were combined with some niggling stomach instability that a few of us started feeling while driving yesterday, so The Girl was kept home from school today. When there's no word of protest against the "no-TV-if-you're-sick" rule and a sigh of relief when flopping into bed, it's a sure sign of legitimacy.

(A quick apology to all those I hugged and breathed on yesterday - I'm feeling fairly fine, so hopefully I wasn't a carrier of some real nastiness.)

Ah, yesterday. Coming back to Canada is always a bit bittersweet, and nowhere have I felt that as strongly as at church. It was *so* nice to see all those friendly faces and to feel so much goodwill simply radiating at us when we walked in.

I read somewhere (Donald Miller, I think) that deep down, all people really want is to be known for who they are and loved anyway. In our world of Oil of Olay, The Gap and IKEA, it's tempting and relatively easy to put together a polished and attractive front. Yet when we engage people purely on a surface level, we will always wonder whether we would be as likable if we were suddenly as stinky and selfish as we know we really are when we look in the mirror.

I know that I'm frequently stinky and selfish around the people I purport to love best in this world, and because of that I always marvel that they seem to know me and love me anyway. I walk into church and am continually amazed to find people who have seen some pretty awful sides of me yet love me in spite of it. Or, perhaps, it is possible they love me because of it, in the same way that I find myself loving those who trust me enough to reveal their less-than-perfect sides to me.

I'm quite convinced that when I do get to Heaven, it will be like my arrival at church yesterday. (Possibly not exactly - one wonders whether there will be snow to shovel off of the front steps there.)

I'll walk in after things have started and I'll hear some whispered "Nice to see you!"s from fellow stragglers. The usher will smile as he finds me a seat and every time I look away from the front stage I'll catch someone's eye, who will then grin broadly with the promise of later catching-up. There'll be some fabulous singing interspersed with people sharing about how they show their love to God by loving others. After the show, I'll be surrounded by friends I haven't seen in ages:

"How was the trip up? Any trouble?"

"Nah, there was that cancer nuisance and I got searched at the border, but it wasn't so bad."

I'll grab a cup of Heaven's equivalent of fair trade/organic coffee and feel my heart's cup fill and overflow with a deep joy knowing that we all belong here and are loved.

And over and over I'll hear, "We've missed you so much; welcome back."