In heaven, I will be able to run again. Not the stumbly, achey, 8-metres-on-a-good-day shuffle I’m accustomed to – I’ll be able to run. I’ll be able to run as far as I want, outside, through all the perfect and beautiful things God made, and my legs won’t hurt and I won’t collapse after two steps and I won’t stop until I’m laughing too much to keep running. And then, when I do stop, I’ll be able to start again.
There’s a lot of better things to look forward to than that, I know. But right now, that’s what I miss.