We are excited to watch Poppy Hill when it gets here. John Mansfield got me with this:

This involvement connects to her relationship with her departed father, and the climax of the story takes the girl and a boy to the bridge of a ship in Yokohama harbor where its captain delays departure fifteen minutes to tell them of his admiration for their fathers, his friends that he remembers every day.

And so I have been thinking about the memories we leave behind us. I want my children to think of their time at home as the happy, golden years. That doesn’t come through indulgence. It comes through structure and discipline and light and love and water fights on the front grass.

Which brings me to eternity.

Belief in the afterlife doesn’t come naturally to me. I have to have faith in it. But I have experienced for myself over and over what C.S. Lewis said about Joy. That it was a transcendent thing that was beautiful and glorious above everything, that you can never quite reach. My experience is all to the contrary that the veil between me and transcendence can be pierced, and so believing in the afterlife does not come naturally to me. Though I do.

But what I do feel instinctively is that God knows and watches me and my family. Our little filthinesses pain Him. Our glories please Him. He loves us. When my mortal family is gone it will still be present to Him forever, if I am wise and well it will be present like a much-beloved book, Little House in the Big Woods, or They Loved to Laugh.

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