In my life I have known, and lost, many good cattlemen, cowboys, cowpokes, cowpunchers and the like. Call them what you may, but folks that have a deep appreciation for the land and its bovine inhabitants.
Each time one passes my initial wave of grief is replaced by a deep gratitude and I am able to find solace in the fact that heaven is not unfamiliar territory to them.
John 14:2 states that "In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?".
Although I understand the intent behind the verse and how Jesus is preparing a place for us in heaven, but I shudder at the thought of a grand mansion with many rooms.
I believe heaven is a cool, crisp morning in the hills - perhaps mid-May. You can almost watch the young, tender grass that was burned a few weeks earlier shoot up towards the sky. The blades are covered in dew and when the sun peaks over the horizon and rays of sunshine hit these droplets the ground sparkles in a brilliant, dazzling display that diamonds could never compare to. The sky is covered in an array of pink, purple, orange and yellow. The enormity in this silent explosion of grandeur and majesty is a simple reminder of our small role in this magnificent place. You're gently reminded of your small role by the low, calm bawl from a calf or two and watch as a cloud of steam lifts from their nostrils with each breath.
Words could never full do it justice, nor could an artist's brush. To experience such beauty is a privilege not lost on anyone although most don't wax poetically about it.
No, heaven is not unfamiliar territory for a good cattleman. Heaven is just another day in your Father's pasture.
