The First Question I Will Ask God in Heaven

A lot of people come up with grandiose questions when asked to describe the first thing they want to say to God in the hereafter.  I do too (aliens? Multiple universes?  Why are there eight hot dogs to a pack but hot dog buns usually come as only six or twelve packs?--you know, the really important stuff); but sometimes I think--with the utmost seriousness--that the most grandiose theory-of-everything question I can ask is 'Why am I so dumb?'  Because surely that question would open up vistas of an infinitely intricate Providence manipulating variable after variable to somehow supply me with loving friends and family, clean water and a roof over my head, sanity, and even acceptable modicums of personal hygiene, despite what appear to be my almost heroic inability to learn from mistakes, favor cool heads over heated heart, or just being not dumb for a few hours.

All of this seems overstated perhaps; by most standards I am reasonably intelligent, friendly, etc...  But I think the most frightening statement in the bible is that "Christ knew what was in man." (John 2:24).  Of course its bad enough to think that Christ--that God!--knows all of my little hidden sins, all of the big hidden ones too.  But it compounds when I realize that God has perfect reception to all of my stupid little pops of (un)conscious thought and emotion; all the maddening and exigent stupidities that float to the surface of your brain unbidden; or those ferocious little insecurities that dig into your head and heart like sharp little whispers, and that--however much you know their falsehood, their banality--do not leave you be.

And herein lay the truth of the universe: when I feel ill-used by it, I should perhaps remember that it took a Conductor of inestimable skill to somehow keep weaving my discord back into His melody; that the Angelic Host probably had to dedicate an entire department to me, and that some poor Cherub is probably even now late for dinner as we speak, shuffling through the paperwork I must generate.  That however naive I am, however sinful, God came down for me, and is currently taking the time to ensure that I live just a little bit longer amongst the love one's he continues to give me; that He loves me.  But lest we end too grandiose in our theology, I should say it also provides me with an excuse to sleep late on occasion.  Because, surely, the Angelic choirs likewise rejoice that I would give them a few more--paperwork-free!--hours of respite.  And since we will be seeing each other for eternity, I should probably start doing them a few favors now.  I mean--its the least I can do.