Lint in heaven

TH has an unwavering belief in heaven right now. It's not a doctrine we namecheck often, in part because we don't lie to our children about our own beliefs, and, well, let's just say that orthodoxy isn't really our strong suit. He's picked up on this comforting belief primarily on his own and at church, and he uses it in ways that people through millennia have done: to grapple with loss, to experience a hope of reunion.

Of course, most people think about reunion with other people, or possibly with a beloved pet. TH does think about a heaven with people. Just the other day, we were looking at a sad painting of a clearly starving mother with her wan-looking child, and he said, "They're in heaven now, aren't they? And doing fine?" He said similar things as he tried to wrap his mind around the devastation of the Haiti earthquake. And only yesterday, he expressed his certainty that when we were all dead, that's where we'd meet again. He's even given it as confirmed that our beloved Daisymayfattypants, the namesake of this blog, will be there to greet us, tail wagging away.

And we'd also, apparently, be meeting up there with our good friend, the lint ball.

No, not Lent. Lint. A ball of pocket lint that disastrously and permanently went astray almost a year ago.

In addition to pets and beloved family and friends, TH told me yesterday as we walked a local hike-and-bike trail that he's looking forward to heaven because he's pretty sure that lint ball he lost at Westcave Preserve on a class field trip will be there, waiting for him.

On Earth as it is in Heaven is TH's theology. And that includes lint balls. Which of us doesn't find our spiritual comfort in our own idiosyncratic way? Personally, I'm hoping for the Defending Your Life version, endless plates of pasta and all.