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by Lt. Amanda Reardon –
I’ve finally come to accept the fact that I’m never going to own the picture; it’s well out of my price range. So, because the print won’t be found hanging over my fireplace, I can occasionally be found lingering around the rear of our local Christian bookstore, meditating on this glorious Ron DiCianni print autographed, numbered and framed that graces the back wall of the store. It looks like this:
In the background there is a throne, which is empty. To the left, near the foreground, stands an angel. His arms are outstretched and draped with a white cloth. At the front of the picture there is a man, not too old nor too young, who is on his knees on a small footstool. In his right hand he holds the crown that has just been removed from the angel’s white cloth. And there is Jesus, also on his knees, clutching the man to him, his face expressing deep emotion as he holds the man’s head to his chest. Under the picture is the title: “Safely Home.”
The believer depicted as having just entered heaven looks like someone I could know. He looks about my age, and he is wearing khaki pants and a denim shirt. A normal, modern guy. Which makes it all seem so real to me. Someday I will really be there. Someday I will really see Jesus.
II Corinthians 5: 6-8 says: “Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not by sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” (NIV)
As happy as I am here on earth, I long for the day I go home. It’s not so much the crown, the mansion, or the streets of gold that I desire, it’s looking at the face of Jesus. No longer will I only know him by faith; I will know him by sight. Even more than that, I want to see him looking at me. Right into my eyes.
I recently had a dream in which I was supposed to go to a house and meet with Jesus and some friends for a party. I drove to the house, but I stayed in my car on the opposite side of the street, afraid to approach. Then the side door of the house opened, and Jesus casually leaned out and waved and yelled, “Amy! We’re over here! Come on in!” Oh, to hear the Master speak my own name! To have him call for me to come to him, to join him! A sense of joy like I have never known spread through my whole being.
I went into the house, and several of my friends were lounging around on couches just chatting about nothing, laughing, and having a good time. Jesus sat in a La-Z-Boy, and was just part of the conversation. I was sneaking peeks at Jesus because I was afraid it would be rude to stare. But all I wanted to do was look at him. I wanted my friends to stop their useless chatter so we could all listen to Jesus. I felt so in love with him.
When I awoke I was overwhelmed by this subconscious glimpse at the presence of the Lord. And all I could think was that someday I will really be with him. Someday I will audibly experience him calling my name.
When I first lay eyes on Jesus, I know exactly what I am going to do. I’m going to drop to my knees and lower my head in worship. Then, as in the picture I love so well, I believe he will rush to me, lift my head to his chest, and tell me how glad he is that I’m finally home.
A few months ago I had a discussion with my little boy as I was tucking him into bed. We were talking about how Jesus was everywhere and yet we couldn’t see him. We talked about heaven being our real home, and how when we eventually get there, we will see him. As he closed his eyes, he said dreamily, “I miss Jesus.”
Yes, I thought, I miss him too. But someday, I will be there.
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