The morning did not begin with an alarm.

There was no reason for one.

Daniel opened his eyes because he was rested. Completely rested. There was no stiffness in his back, no lingering fatigue, and none of that momentary confusion that once accompanied waking. He simply became aware that another day had begun.

Sunlight streamed through the open window.

He smiled at the thought of calling it “sunlight.” He still used old words for things that were now considerably greater than the words could contain.

He stepped outside.

The air was cool, carrying the fragrance of trees and flowers growing along the path. Somewhere nearby water moved over stones. Birds called from trees farther down the hillside.

Daniel stopped for a moment.

He still did that.

Even after all this time, creation could surprise him.

The old world had contained extraordinary beauty. He remembered Texas mornings when the sky turned orange before sunrise, thunderstorms building across the horizon, and nights when the Milky Way appeared over dark country roads.

But there had always been something wrong mixed into everything.

Heat eventually became oppressive. Storms destroyed things. Animals died. Bodies grew tired. Beautiful moments ended.

Here, creation seemed finally to be what creation had always wanted to become.

He started down the road toward the city.

“Daniel!”

He recognized the voice.

Samuel was coming toward him carrying something that looked like a set of woodworking tools.

“What are you doing today?” Daniel asked.

“Finishing the table.”

“You have been finishing that table for three days.”

Samuel laughed.

“I’ve changed the design twice.”

Daniel shook his head. “Some things apparently survived the resurrection.”

They walked together.

There was work here, although calling it work sometimes seemed inadequate. Nobody worked because a mortgage was due. Nobody worried about losing a job. There were no layoffs, shortages, dishonest employers, exhausted employees, or businesses failing because someone had made a mistake.

People made things because making things was good.

They cultivated gardens.

They studied.

They designed.

They built.

They taught.

They explored.

They served.

Daniel had finally understood Genesis better after coming here. Humanity had been given meaningful work before sin ever entered the world. Work had never been the curse. Frustration, exhaustion, futility, thorns and death had corrupted it.

Now the frustration was gone.

At an intersection Samuel turned toward his workshop.

“Come by this afternoon.”

“I will.”

Daniel continued toward the city.

People were everywhere.

Families sat together beneath trees. Children ran along a stream. Two men were discussing something animatedly beside a garden. A woman was teaching several people about plants Daniel had never seen before.

There were languages he recognized and many he did not, yet somehow communication no longer produced the barriers he remembered.

And there were people from everywhere.

Every nation.

Every century.

Every social class.

People whose earthly lives had never overlapped now shared meals and conversations.

Daniel occasionally found himself thinking, On earth these people might have hated one another.

Not here.

There were differences without hostility.

Individuality without pride.

Community without cliques.

Authority without corruption.

Nobody maneuvered for position because nobody needed to prove his importance.

As Daniel approached the city, he heard singing.

Thousands of voices.

Perhaps millions.

He stopped.

This was worship, but it was nothing like the caricature he had once imagined—an eternal church service where everyone remained in a pew forever singing the same songs.

Worship here was larger than music.

The song simply erupted because people had encountered something about God that demanded expression.

Daniel joined them.

He could not later have said how long it lasted.

Time mattered, but nobody seemed enslaved by it.

Then the congregation dispersed.

Some returned to their homes. Others went to their work. Some remained talking. Others gathered around teachers.

Worship had not ended.

The singing had ended.

There was a difference.

Daniel walked toward a large gathering place where someone was teaching about the history of God’s providence.

That remained one of his favorite things.

On earth he had possessed countless questions.

Why had God permitted this?

Why hadn’t He stopped that?

Why had one prayer apparently been answered while another seemed unanswered?

Why had faithful people suffered?

Here he was gradually discovering something remarkable: God’s answers did not make earthly suffering insignificant.

They revealed that God had never abandoned His people within it.

Daniel listened as stories were told from perspectives he had never known.

Events he had understood only partially during his earthly life suddenly connected with other events separated by continents and centuries.

Providence looked very different when viewed from the completed story.

Around midday he met several friends for a meal.

There was bread.

Fruit.

Vegetables.

And food Daniel couldn’t identify.

Someone had prepared it simply because she enjoyed preparing meals for people.

The conversation wandered from history to music to memories of earthly life.

Eventually someone told a story that made everyone laugh.

Daniel laughed until his sides hurt.

Then he realized his sides didn’t actually hurt.

That made him laugh harder.

Later he remembered Samuel’s invitation and walked toward the workshop.

The table was magnificent.

Samuel ran his hand across its surface.

“What do you think?”

“I think you were right to change the design.”

“I knew eventually you would acquire wisdom.”

They spent the afternoon working together.

There was satisfaction in accomplishing something with their hands.

No nail bent.

No measurement became a source of anger.

Mistakes occasionally happened, but mistakes no longer wounded pride.

Eventually Daniel stepped outside.

A group was walking toward the hills beyond the city.

“Where are you going?”

“Exploring.”

“What is out there?”

“We don’t know.”

Daniel grinned.

That sentence still existed.

We don’t know.

Eternal life had not transformed human beings into omniscient creatures. God remained infinite. Creation remained filled with things to discover.

Daniel joined them.

They walked for miles without becoming exhausted.

Eventually they reached an overlook.

The landscape stretched farther than Daniel could see.

Mountains stood on the horizon. Rivers wound through valleys. Forests extended in another direction.

Nobody spoke for several moments.

Then Daniel became conscious of something he had experienced continually since resurrection but still found astonishing.

There was no fear.

Not suppressed fear.

Not managed fear.

No fear.

Nobody in the group was going to receive a telephone call announcing that someone had died.

Nobody was secretly fighting cancer.

Nobody’s marriage was quietly collapsing.

Nobody was wondering whether there would be enough money next month.

Nobody was preparing for war.

Nobody was hiding depression behind a smile.

Nobody was getting older.

Nobody was dying.

Death itself was dead.

As evening approached, Daniel returned toward the city.

Lights appeared in windows.

Tables were being prepared.

People gathered.

Somewhere music began again.

Then Daniel saw Him.

Jesus.

Everything else became secondary.

Daniel had seen Him many times, yet familiarity had never diminished wonder.

There was something about seeing the face of Christ that continually reordered everything.

Daniel remembered the words he had once read:

“They will see His face.”

On earth he had believed them.

Here he lived them.

Jesus was speaking with several people. There was laughter among them.

Daniel waited.

Eventually Christ looked toward him.

That look contained something Daniel had spent his entire earthly life trying to understand.

Complete knowledge.

Complete holiness.

And complete love.

There was nothing to hide.

No shame requiring concealment.

No sin remaining to confess.

No fear of rejection.

Redemption was finished.

Daniel suddenly remembered something someone had once asked him during his earthly life.

“Won’t heaven eventually become boring?”

He almost laughed.

He had misunderstood the question because he had misunderstood eternity.

Eternity wasn’t an infinite repetition of one pleasant experience.

It was endless life with an infinite God.

There would always be more of God’s goodness to know.

More creation to discover.

More relationships to enjoy.

More things to make.

More things to learn.

More reasons to worship.

Daniel looked across the city.

Tomorrow he might explore the mountains.

Samuel wanted help with another project.

Someone had invited him to hear the story of a Christian who had lived during the Roman persecutions.

There were people he wanted to meet and questions he wanted to investigate.

But none of those things was ultimately what made this heaven.

God was here.

The Lamb was here.

The people of God were home.

The curse was gone.

And everything was finally right.

Daniel walked toward the table where his friends were waiting.

Another day was ending.

And no one feared the night.

“For the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and His servants will serve Him. They will see His face… and they will reign forever and ever.”

Revelation 22:3–5