@thesoulful_writer: I will go to heaven. That much, I know. Deeply, and so truely I know. I do not imagine entering heaven like a man returning from victory, with songs behind him and gold upon his head. Some of you will arrive with crowns bright as morning, with testimonies polished by obedience, with garments that still remember the fragrance of faithfulness. I will not have much to show except a heart that kept whispering, “Lord, have mercy,” even when the road was long and my feet were failing. Deep within, I know I will arrive like a wounded man crawling home after a long war—with himself, with life, with sin, with sorrow, with weakness, with the strange heaviness of being human. Yet I know, to the very depth of my soul, that I will enter heaven. I will arrive tired. Dusty. In pieces. I think I will fall more than I will walk through that door. And still, I will not complain. Because if my knees touch the threshold of heaven, that will be enough. If I collapse inside my Father's house with nothing left in me but gratitude, that will be glory. If all I have to offer is the confession that grace carried me where strength could not, I will still lift my broken heart and whisper, "Thank You, Jesus." I have long since stopped hoping that I will impress heaven. I only hope to reach it. For I know that I will not stand there because I never stumbled, but because Christ never let me go. Not because I was strong enough to finish the race untouched, but because every time I fell, mercy stooped lower than my failure. Yes, I know I will go to heaven. But I will get there falling. Dusty. Tired. In pieces. And even then, heaven will not be less heaven to me.

The Soulful_Writer

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Wednesday 08 July 2026 11:34:19 GMT