I had some minor dental surgery yesterday. I guess it is one of the things that happens as you get older. When we are young, we’re given a second chance with our teeth. The old ones fall out and we grow a new set of “adult” teeth. From then on, however, we need to make those teeth last and with lifespans growing longer and longer, our teethe to be in there for the long haul. Some of mine aren’t making the tip and so I have opted for a rather expensive, but very effective plan: dental implants. Although I’m not convinced it was entirely necessary, the choice of the oral surgeon was to perform the procedure under general anesthesia. And I trust the surgeon and made an appointment for a day when I was able to take an entire day off of work.

The sleep, induced by the medicine I was given, was pleasant. The procedure went well and I have had no pain from the operation at all. Other than being very careful with my eating and oral hygiene, the next few months of healing should go very easily and in a few months I’ll have permanent crowns to allow for several more decades of eating.

As I quickly drifted off to sleep and later as I took a nap at home following the procedure, I was thinking of a beautiful place in the mountains south of the town where I grew up. In the high country the river is a raging torrent - not a place to put a boat, even for a very experienced whitewater kayaker. There are very few places where it is possible to wade from one side of the river to the next. In the place of which I was thinking, access is by a dirt and rock road that was carved out of the forest years ago to provide access to mines. Most of the rest of the territory is national forest that borders on wilderness area. I know a place where one can hike just a few minutes from the road and sit on a rock and peer across the river at 1,500 square miles of wilderness spread out into two states. I’ve hiked only a very small portion of that wilderness, but know of its stunning alpine vistas, cold mountain lakes and incredible beauty.

One of the things about the wild country is that it is constantly changing. I’ve been going to that same place and sitting on that same rock since I was a very young boy. There have been years when the fires burned close and the air was clouded with smoke. There have been years when the straight-line winds have downed thousands of trees. Some of the survivor trees grow at funny angles and have strange twists in their trunks. New trees have grown tall. Not far from the rock the beavers are constantly rearranging a series of ponds. I think those beavers have mastered the skill of engineering their ponds for maximum mosquito production. Although it wasn’t there until I reached my early forties, there is now a bridge across the river about a mile downstream from my rock that provides access to the wilderness area for hikers. Few venture more than a few miles on day hikes, but it is possible to walk from there over the divide into Yellowstone National Park. Lake flat, up on top has a series of mountain lakes with thousands of potential campsites for those who are bear smart and good at carrying all that they need.

I guess that place is, for me, a window on heaven. At least it is a place of rest and renewal. And memories of the place are images that I carry with me wherever I go. I can conjure up those images sitting in a dentist’s chair in South Dakota.

I don’t spend much time or energy thinking about heaven. I’m perfectly comfortable trying to live as well as I am able while picking up a few skills that perhaps will allow me to die gracefully when the time comes. I have no doubt that this life is not all there is to God’s realm. But I’m not much for trying to describe what comes next.

The few preachers who I’ve heard trying to expound their theologies of heaven usually end up describing some place that doesn’t sound all that appealing to me, frankly. I’ve no desire to go to a gated community in the sky with guards at the gate who control the comings and going. I don’t think that what God has in store for us is an eternity spent only with people with the same religion as ours.

As for place, it seems as if there is sufficient beauty, healing and grace in the mountains for me. I don’t need some other place outside of this world to experience the infusion of body and spirit that reminds me of how much of creation lies outside of my experience. The valley in which I was born contains enough beauty for me and yet I’ve been allowed to see so much more and know that there is so much more yet to see.

So I don’t think of heaven as a place.

My peaceful anesthesia-induced nap yesterday morning did not require any physical travel for me. I slept in the same chair, in roughly the same position, for the entire time. The place was filled with activity. The surgeon and his assistants were focused and working hard. There were machines to monitor my heart and breathing and tools for the surgeon to place the small pins correctly for healing. I think they had music playing in the background. It wasn’t a place of pine trees and rushing water and birds and steep mountainsides. It isn’t home to deer and bear and elk and moose. There were no beavers or otters or golden trout. The eagles overhead were not seen by those hard at work. But my mind was allowed to drift off to rest and renewal and peace in the midst of all of the activities of the dental surgery.

Where do we go when we die? I do not know the answer to this question. But I don’t think it is the most important question. I am convinced that God is in everyplace and that being with God is enough.

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