What Do You Hope Heaven Is Like?

Is There Life After Death?

I find myself thinking about what comes next more than I used to. Not from fear or morbidity, but sometimes desire, from genuine curiosity about the greatest mystery we all face. What happens when this life ends and whatever follows begins?

I don’t claim to know the answer. I’ve read about near-death experiences, explored spiritual texts, and had my own unexplained moments that hint at something beyond our physical reality. But knowing and hoping are different things entirely.

So here’s a question I’ve been thinking about: What do you hope heaven—or whatever comes after—is actually like?

Not what you’ve been told it should be, not what doctrine says it must be, but what your heart secretly hopes for when you let yourself dream about perfect existence.

The Reunion We Long For

One of the most persistent hopes I carry is about reunion. I think about seeing a spirit family, beings who have known me for eons and with whom I have no reason to explain or justify anything. Maybe we’ve seen each other fumble through other lifetimes with no judgement other than entertainment or curiosity.

Then there are people from this lifetime who have passed, with whom it would be nice to say thanks for being part of the journey. Maybe on the other side we took or decided roles to play in each other’s lives, who knows?

The obvious one for spiritual seekers among us is Jesus. We might not feel so close or deserving on this side, but just maybe there is a chance that we are known and loved on that side by the man/being who is said to be all knowing and all loving.

Simon

Then there is Simon! Simon was a cat that came with a roommate, Sherry, and an apartment in Florida back in my 20s. He was one of two cats who seemed to dislike humans completely. Simon was young and regardless of trying to scratch me, I would pick him up and cuddle him while watching the TV. At first he’d wriggle and scratch, so I would let him go after a few minutes. But after 5 or 6 times, I’d open my arms to release him and he’d just stay there. I had earned his trust and he became a good friend.

In fact, I would come home from work and he would run up to me and tap my foot and then run away wanting me to chase him and do the same. I think the game is called Tag or It. This was the first time I realized that cats are like people in animal bodies. Almost like a child. I hope Simon forgives me for breaking his heart when I left the apartment and moved to LA. I was young and never got attached to things back then. (My roommate told me he would go into my empty room and call me.)

This kind of sadness and love (a compassion I learned over time) is what I truly hope is understood and made up for on the other side. I hate to say it but I almost want Simon to be the first in line to greet me.

Gemma

I grew up alongside five or six dogs too in the family over the years. Although, I had a soft spot for most of them, Gemma stands out as my favorite. She was a Golden Retriever, a PAT dog that my Mum would take into hospitals to visit the kids. I would cuddle her on the kitchen floor and whisper into her ear childhood thoughts. Hopefully, Gemma will be there to greet me when it’s my time. Who knows, maybe Simon will be on her back or walking just in front of her. We can dream, it’s OK..

Of course, it would be nice to meet my mother again—not as she is now, with dementia, but as her vibrant self. I imagine conversations with my dear friend who passed away last year too. Maybe they can watch us in this lifetime as things unfold here. Or maybe past, present and future are all accessible and already played out. It can get a bit out of control trying to get your heard around these concepts.

Do you hope heaven includes those we’ve loved? Not just a brief encounter, but real relationships—the chance to continue growing together, to finally understand each other completely, to love without the barriers that earthly life sometimes creates?

I hope my ex-wife and her daughter find peace there too one day, along with good friends who have been a support along this journey.

Who would you most want to see again, and what would you want to tell them?

The Healing of All Things

One of the most beautiful aspects of near-death accounts is the consistent theme of complete healing—not just physical, but emotional and spiritual restoration. People describe feeling whole in ways they’d never experienced in life.

I hope heaven means the end of all the small pains we carry. The anxiety that wakes us at 3 AM. The regrets that surface at quiet moments. The sense of never quite being enough, smart enough, successful enough.

What if heaven is where we finally understand that we were always enough? Where the harsh inner critic that followed us through life falls silent, replaced by perfect self-acceptance?

I hope it’s where my mother’s mind becomes clear again, where those struggling with mental illness find perfect peace, where everyone who fought invisible battles finally experiences the relief they’ve been seeking.

What part of yourself do you hope gets healed or perfected?

Learning Without Limits

As someone who’s spent decades teaching and still struggles with learning Japanese after twenty years in Japan, I’m fascinated by the possibility of understanding without effort. What if heaven includes access to all knowledge—not as overwhelming information, but as natural comprehension?

I hope to understand the deeper patterns behind life’s seemingly random events. Were those synchronicities I’ve experienced really communications, or just my mind finding patterns in chaos? Was there meaning in the struggles, or were they simply the friction of being human?

Do you hope for answers to life’s big questions—why suffering exists, whether free will is real, what the purpose of it all was? Or do you think the beauty might be in finally understanding that the questions themselves were the point?

What mysteries do you most hope to understand?

The Freedom of Perfect Expression

In earthly life, we’re all somewhat trapped by our limitations—physical, intellectual, emotional. I wonder what it would feel like to express yourself completely, without the barriers of language, culture, or misunderstanding.

I hope heaven means being able to communicate pure intention, pure love, pure appreciation without the clumsy vehicle of words. To understand others completely and be completely understood in return.

For someone who’s spent years trying to bridge cultural gaps and help students express themselves in a foreign language, the idea of perfect communication feels like the ultimate freedom.

How do you hope to connect with others in whatever comes next?

Time Without Urgency

One thing that appeals to me about eternity is the possibility of experiencing everything without the pressure of limited time. What if heaven means we can explore every interest, master every skill, appreciate every beautiful thing without the anxiety of running out of time?

I think about all the books I’ll never read, the languages I’ll never learn, the places I’ll never visit in this lifetime. Maybe heaven includes the space to experience all of it without rushing, without the constant awareness of mortality pushing us forward.

Do you hope for endless time to become everything you wanted to be? To finally write that book, learn that instrument, understand that scientific concept that always felt just beyond your grasp?

What would you pursue if you had eternal time to explore it?

Work That Feels Like Play

I’ve found satisfaction in teaching and farming because they feel meaningful—helping others grow, literally and figuratively. But I wonder what perfect work looks like. Would heaven include tasks that challenge us and let us contribute something valuable, but without the exhaustion and stress that earthly work often brings?

Maybe it’s creating beauty for others to enjoy. Maybe it’s nurturing growth—spiritual, intellectual, or even literal gardens that somehow matter in the cosmic scheme. Work that feels like pure expression rather than obligation.

Do you hope heaven includes creative expression? Service to others? The chance to build and create and contribute to something larger than yourself?

What kind of meaningful activity do you hope fills eternal existence?

Nature Without Decay

Having spent years working the soil and cycling through Japan’s countryside, I’ve come to love the natural world deeply. But earthly nature is beautiful partly because it’s temporary—seasons change, flowers bloom and fade, even the strongest trees eventually fall.

I hope heaven includes nature, but without the constant cycle of death and renewal. Gardens that stay beautiful without maintenance, sunsets that never end if you want them to continue, wildlife that approaches without fear.

Maybe it’s walking through forests with loved ones without worrying about time or weather or getting lost. Maybe it’s finally understanding the language of birds or feeling completely at home in any natural setting.

What aspects of the natural world do you hope to experience perfectly?

The Mystery Worth Preserving

Here’s something interesting: I hope heaven retains some mystery. Not the painful uncertainty that sometimes torments us here, but the joyful kind of mystery—always having something new to discover, always being surprised by beauty or insight or connection.

What if perfect knowledge doesn’t mean knowing everything immediately, but having infinite capacity to learn and grow and be amazed? Maybe the best part of heaven is that it’s so vast and wonderful that exploration never ends.

I hope it’s big enough that I can spend eternity getting to know the people I love more deeply, understanding creation more fully, and still always finding new wonders around the next corner.

Do you hope for complete understanding, or would you want mystery to remain part of the beauty?

The Peace That Passes Understanding

Ultimately, what I hope for most is the kind of peace that earthly life rarely provides—not just the absence of conflict, but the presence of perfect rightness. The feeling that everything, including all the difficult parts of this life, somehow fits into a pattern so beautiful that we can finally rest completely.

I hope it’s the place where all our searching ends not because we’ve given up, but because we’ve found what we didn’t even know we were looking for.

The peace of finally being home.

Your Dreams of What’s Next

I don’t know if what I hope for bears any resemblance to what actually awaits us. But I find comfort in the hoping itself, and in sharing these dreams with others who wonder about the same questions.

These aren’t theological certainties—they’re the quiet longings of someone who’s lived long enough to know that earthly life, beautiful as it can be, feels incomplete and somewhat fake or deceiving. Like the opening chapter of a story rather than the whole book.

What do you hope heaven is like?

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Whether you call it heaven, the afterlife, or whatever comes next, I’m curious about your hopes and dreams for what follows this life. What would perfect existence look like to you?

Share your thoughts below. I respond to every comment, and your experience often helps others more than mine does.