Ramona went with me to walk the dog this morning. It was a perfect and crisp sixty degrees. The mild, morning sun shone on us and I remarked that I thought Heaven might be this temperature. "Sometimes," Ramona added. "Sometimes it should be warmer."
"Well, yes," I conceded. "But I think that for me, Heaven will feel like this, and for Daddy, it will feel like a 90-degree day, with plenty of humidity. And I think, in Heaven, we'll be able to stand in the same place and we'll each feel perfection."
She agreed and we ambled on contentedly. We watched some butterflies for awhile and then got to talking about God's mind and Creation.
"How did He think of it all?" I asked her.
"He's really, really smart," she said. "And it's kind of like an artist. Like the world's His painting or something."
"Yes!" I said. "I agree with you! Just like a painter who imagines something beautiful and then gives it to us as a gift. That's kind of like God's creation. It's His mind at work, huh?"
"Yeah," she said. "I think He got out his oil paints for butterflies. And watercolors for the rivers and stuff like that."
I knew she was on a roll, so I prodded for a little more. "What do you think He did to make dogs?"
"I think," she said thoughtfully, "that he took one feather from every angel's wing and made dogs. Because I think dogs are angels."
"Oh! I like that idea. What about cats?"
"For cats?" she asked. "He used a couple of spices."