The Colors in Heaven

“You know, there are colors in Heaven that we don’t have here,” she said to me over and over again through the years. She had complete confidence that Heaven is a place of endless color the likes of which we have never encountered with our mortal eyes. Heaven was always a near reality for her, so close she could almost touch it. She often filled the hours we spent together with descriptions of Heaven and praise for a God who felt as close a friend to her as anyone she could see and touch.

I sat beside her on Wednesday when she could no longer draw enough breath to tell me about Heaven, and I told her about it instead. I painted the pictures of Heaven that she had planted in my heart, and I told her that soon, very soon, she would finally lay eyes on the mysterious colors that she has been longing to see since I’ve known her.

She was not your typical friend. Our age gap was extreme–she was 52 years old when I was born. Yet we had so much in common. We both had an enduring love for old things and for words and for colors, especially pink. She tried to teach me how to be an artist like she was. She gave me so many things that made my house beautiful. She was fully invested in my Christmas decor and loved to come and tour our house once I had everything decorated each year. We shared a great love for children, for motherhood, for holidays, but most important of all, we shared a love for Jesus. She never, ever ran out of generous, loving words. She never stopped praying for our family by name multiple times a day. And she never stopped teaching me that true joy brings wonder into every situation.

Between 1960 and 1964, back when my own parents were still in elementary school, she hosted what she called Saturday Morning Mission. Children from all around the area where their farm was down in South Texas came to their barn every Saturday morning, where she taught them about Jesus. The barn burned to the ground in 1964, but she always considered this mission to children to be one of the most precious accomplishments of her life, because over the course of those four years, 60 children came to a saving knowledge of who Jesus is and made professions of faith. It’s fascinating to think about one little family deciding to open up their barn to children, only to find that God was willing to pour out His Spirit on the whole endeavor. After the barn burned, the only surviving physical evidence of Saturday Morning Mission was the cow bell they used to call all the children to come inside. Only God knows what remained spiritually or how those Saturday mornings echoed out into the future as children left there changed.

She loved so many things about this world, but she loved Jesus most of all, and couldn’t wait to meet Him face to face. As I sat beside her on her last day, I reminded her that she was only going to see her true friend whom she had known so well for all her life. This meeting between Jesus and Carolyn only continued a conversation that they’ve had going for a long time. Joy is literally her middle name, and she lived up to it on earth. I can only imagine how real her joy is today, among all the colors, close to her Savior.

I stood before the tomb with bowed head
with tears falling, “How can this be?” I said.
Then I looked up and behold
A light more brilliant than gold
An angel sat there instead of Jesus my Lord!
The angel said, “He is risen, He’s kept His word.”
He was perfect, but He died for you and me.
But someday in Heaven He’s there for all of us to see.
He will say, “My child, I loved you so!
To that old cross I had to go.
I died so that you might live.
Now, what to Me will you give?” –Carolyn Joy Strader