When I was around eight years old I began to ask questions about time. I had a general idea about the notions of God and Heaven, but I wasn’t raised in an environment where Bible study was a component of my education. As such, the concept of an infinite eternity was overwhelming when I confronted it. Having been alive less than a decade and aware for an even shorter time, a period of just a couple months could feel like ‘forever’. One night while going to bed I started asking a few philosophical questions and immediately befuddled myself:
What happens when I die?
What is Heaven?
What does forever mean?
What comes after forever?
I had a basic answer for the first few questions given to me through church attendance on major holidays, but the last one really threw me for a loop. My reaction was to cry profusely, and I think my parents were rather surprised when they came to my rescue. To the best of my recollection I was told not to worry about it, and I eventually calmed myself by deciding that if Heaven and forever were all that they were cracked up to be then I could have as many copies of my favorite stuffed animal – and in any size – that I wanted. Before then I had imagined getting bored walking around on clouds with nothing to do for millions of years with no end in sight.
So why did this line of questioning upset me so much?