When I was a kid, I had a mental list of questions to ask God when I got to heaven—things like, what was there before time existed, and are there aliens, and how did you think of sight, and how is it that even things people create, like sports or art, have real rules about what is quality. Now, my questions are more whys than whats. Why did Jesus have all male disciples, and why do some people live whole lives feeling desperate and hopeless—where’s the intervention, and why the Bible, when it’s so easily used for evil, and why doesn’t God write “I love you” across my ceiling when I want him to, or just show up and sit on my couch and have a conversation.
I think there’s a subtext to all my adult questions—“are you good?” Explain yourself, I want to say. I’m not in an I demand answers mode with this; what’s really going on in my head, I think, is more like this thing makes me afraid that you are not good, and I want you to be good. I’m not sure anymore that I care even a little about the answers to my questions; they are just a shadow of what I want to know. I don’t think those things will come to mind when I’m with God. I want to know if aliens exist much more than I want to know why Jesus’ disciples were male, and much less than I want to know what God is like.
I feel like maybe when I get to heaven, even if by that time I am a spiritual superstar who only doubts God’s goodness once a day instead of every time “Blurred Lines” comes on the radio, I will just take one look at God and be like, ahhhhh. And then I think we’ll talk about aliens.