Sad, sad news. My wife and I are going to different heavens. At least different areas of heaven. If heaven were a skyscraper, I’d be up in the penthouse (where I belong of course) and she’d be . . . Somewhere else.
How did I come to this conclusion?
It all started a couple of days ago, as we were eating our supper. Meatloaf by the way. I wonder if they’ll be meatloaf in heaven?
I hope it won’t be a vegan place. Blech! That would not be heaven! Unless the carrots are made out of chuck roast or hot dogs. Yum! That would be both good and interesting.
Anyways, I put some background music on. It was a southern gospel station. Wonderful old hymns, sung by full voiced men, with deep blends of harmony.
“Isn’t this good stuff?” I said to my wife.
Her response. “Hmmm.” She stuffed some butternut squash in her mouth.
Butternut squash. Double Blech! I’m telling you, heaven better have Big Macs.
“What’s the matter?”
“The music is okay,” she said. “I just prefer more modern music.”
I was appalled. I dropped my fork into a pile of gravy to show how appalled I was. It splashed on my shirt. “More modern? But sweetheart. Listen to the way the voices harmonize.”
Again with the hmmm. What was wrong with her?
“What’s wrong with you?” I figures I’d ask. Here’s some sound advice for young husbands. Wives always like their husbands to point out their flaws. Helps them to improve.
She sighed. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I just like more contemporary Christian music.”
“Like those praise songs with all their la-la-las and drums.”
She rolled her eyes. My wife is a champion eye roller. I think she studied it in school. “They don’t all have la-la-las. And what’s wrong with drums?”
“You probably like the volume up at earsplitting volume, too!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I peered deep into her eyes. “Who are you? I don’t know you any more.”
“Eat your meatloaf.”
After a couple minutes of silent meatloaf chomping, I stated. “You know, there aren’t any drums in heaven. It gives Moses a headache.”
She smirked. “There are drums in my heaven.”
I was aghast. So I put on my most aghast face. “Well, I guess we’re not going to the same heaven then.”
“I guess not.” She resumed eating her squash.
“My heaven has carrots made out of steak.”
“Eat your meatloaf.”
So that’s my story. She’s going to the heaven with music blaring so loud you can hardly make out the words, I’m going to heaven where Peter, Paul, and I will sing four part harmony. I always figured Paul to be a tenor. Peter a baritone. Me? I’m a bass. Now we only need to find one more singer. Any ideas?
PRODUCT ALERT Jeremiah Peters does not in any way believe there are multiple heavens. That’s just plain stupid. This post is just a bit of fun and silliness. Entrance into Heaven does not depend on what type of music you like, but on Jesus Christ, and your believing that he died for your sins.
It is sad though, in a world filled with so much sin and misery, that many in the church of Jesus Christ expend so much energy arguing over music choices.