Not long ago, I heard a young Christian say: “This world is full of sin, desire, and endless pursuits, and death may come at any moment.” He added that he was not afraid of death, because only after death could one have unconditional joy and peace, only then could one transcend the world, and only then could one enter the eternal heaven.
His words stirred something in me. I admit, this world is indeed imperfect, often even sigh-inducing. I knew I could not persuade him otherwise, but I wanted to share with him a moment from this past summer when I truly experienced the presence of heaven.
In August, my family vacationed at Sicamous Lake. At noon one day, the sun was dazzling, and the white sand soft beneath our feet. The sunlight sparkled on the lake’s surface as though countless stars had fallen from the sky; the lake stretched out before us like a silver river of the Milky Way. There were few people on the shore, leaving a pocket of quiet space just for us. My young son and I waded into the shallows, playing an easy game of catch. Again and again, he tossed the ball across the shimmering ripples toward me, and again and again I cast it back into the play of light upon the water.
We stood in the middle of the lake, as circles of light rippled outward around us. The sparkling patterns on the water spread across the lake’s expanse, drawing my thoughts outward as well. The sunlight seemed to pass straight through my body. I cannot recall which throw it was, but in that brilliance I was suddenly enveloped by a vast, boundless silence and holiness, and tears welled up in my eyes. In that instant, I knew with certainty: right here on earth, I was also in heaven. Heaven had already descended into the present.
Yes, heaven is like this. When we walk in the light, when thoughts cease, when the heart ripples outward like the water, we can feel eternity’s presence in the sun, the lake, and the ordinary. In my heart, heaven can be a lakeshore like this: where my child still tosses a ball into the air, and I toss back to him the light of time.
On the way back to the inn, fine sand still lingered in my shoes. Though I could not carry with me the Milky Way shimmer of the lake’s surface, that moment made me understand: heaven had truly visited that lakeside afternoon. Heaven is not only a distant hope across the river of death, but also here, in the present, embraced by love and peace. The laughter of a child, the ball thrown from hand to hand, the sunlight and waves—all are upheld by eternal and infinite love.
This is the testimony I long to share with that young brother: heaven is not only a far-off future promise, but also the life of walking with the Lord in the here and now. Whether at the lakeshore, at home, or at work—whatever the circumstances—when we are united with Him, His presence can be revealed in our hearts. [Worship]
XinYu
2025-10-01