Child of God

When I think about my place in heaven, most often I envision myself as a child, a boy of perhaps 11 or 12.
It's hard to explain. Almost as much as I feel my real home is in heaven, not on earth ... I also feel as though I'm meant to be a kid.
As I road my bike out near Bergfeld Pond this morning, I really noticed the beautiful trees along the route. What a wonderful and crucial part of God's creation. (If you want to see a cool book, check out my friend Mark Hirsch's book "That Tree" which is made up of his daily photos for a year of a tree near his home.)
I loved to climb trees, even as I reached my 40s and early 50s. I still do it if it weren't for my back. The same goes for tight-roping fence posts, skipping rocks, snow sledding ... you get the idea.
As my boys grew up, I had more fun playing games inside and out with them than doing "adult" things. At family gatherings, I'd almost always end up straying from the adults to hang out and goof around with the kids.
Maybe that's why I've enjoyed coaching Little League for so long. The kid in me can come out again.
No one knows how we will be in heaven - will we automatically be the age that we were when we died? Or will God choose the age we were "meant" to be for eternity?
I will accept anything He chooses; he's perfect. But for some strange reason, I believe he'll have me be one of his children.