The Explorer Who Never Went Away
A reflection on illness, creation and the hope of heaven
I’ve always been an explorer.
I’ve loved the mountains, the forests, the open spaces and the feeling of being somewhere that makes you stop and marvel at what God has made.
A few years ago, I had plans.
I bought a Fjällräven tent, Salomon alpine boots, Therm-a-Rest sleeping mats and Rab clothing. Proper equipment. And not just for myself. I bought enough for James too.
I had visions of the two of us heading into the Scottish hills, camping beneath the stars, perhaps even doing a little climbing if I could persuade him.
One of the places I wanted to visit was Glen Trool in Scotland, where the dark skies are extraordinary. I even planned a practice trip and invited a couple of friends.
They told me they were too old.
They were the same age as me!
Eventually, I thought, Well, I’ll just go myself.
But I didn’t.
My health deteriorated, and the trip never happened.
For a long time I held on to the hope that I might still manage something. Perhaps not the hillwalking or climbing, but a couple of nights in a tent. Somewhere quiet, with the trees around me and the stars overhead.
Even that now seems increasingly unlikely.
There’s a sadness in that which is difficult to explain. It’s not really about the equipment or the money spent. It’s about the adventures that never happened, the places I never reached, and the experiences I wanted to share with my son.
Illness has a way of quietly closing doors.
But here’s the thing.
I don’t believe the explorer in me has gone anywhere.
My body may no longer be able to do the things I once dreamed of doing, but the longing to explore, to discover, to wonder at creation, is still there.
And that brings me to heaven.
People sometimes talk about heaven in terms of mansions, golden streets and the wonderful things they’ll possess.
I remember someone saying how much he was looking forward to getting to his mansion.
I found myself thinking, But surely that’s missing the point?
Heaven isn’t about acquiring a better house.
It’s about being with Jesus. It’s about perfect love. It’s about creation made new and everything being as God intended.
And I have a rather wonderful picture of that.
I imagine us running through the hills, exploring forests, discovering rivers and mountains, laughing and delighting in the sheer beauty of everything around us.
No exhaustion. No weakness. No body telling us that we’ve gone far enough.
Just the joy of being alive in God’s creation, as he intended us to be.
The Bible tells us that God will make all things new. I don’t pretend to know exactly what that will look like, but I love to imagine the possibilities.
Perhaps there will be places more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. Perhaps there will be discoveries beyond anything I could presently comprehend.
And perhaps, at last, there will be time for all those adventures.
But the greatest joy won’t be the mountains, the forests or the stars.
It will be sharing them with the One who made them.
So perhaps I won’t get to Glen Trool after all.
Perhaps the tent will never be pitched, and the boots will never see a Scottish mountain.
That hurts a little.
But the explorer hasn’t disappeared.
He’s just waiting for a day when there will be no more limitations.
And what an adventure that will be.