Fittingness and Heaven

I’m not happy with the way I am constituted. Part of me wants destruction, part comfort, and part wants what is fitting and good.

Every now and then I look back on something we just did and think "that was perfect." Some word, some act, some silence was as fitting as the skipping stone hitting the pond just right, or getting the second wind running, or the right key turning the lock.

Now that I think of it, those kind of moments never seem to happen when I’m alone.

Those (all too rare) little moments tell me it is possible for righteousness to be unselfconscious joy. And I feel very far from it, living in leaden months of "me me me." And I think that to live like that, with every act fitting the picture perfectly, would be heaven. But it would only be the start, if we could hear someone with the power and right to say it say "well done."

Posted elsewhere first