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John 14:1–3 “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

Think

Jesus didn’t speak about Heaven as an idea or a metaphor. He called it home. In John 14, on the night before his death, he looked at a room full of anxious disciples and said, “Don’t let your hearts be troubled.” Why? Because he was preparing a place for them. A real place. A personal place. A forever place.

This is one of the most tender promises in Scripture. Jesus knows his friends are afraid. Afraid of being alone, of things falling apart, of what comes next. So he offers assurance not with vague comfort, but with concrete hope: “My Father’s house has many rooms.” In other words, there’s space for you. It’s not crowded. It’s not temporary. It’s not exclusive to a certain type of person. It’s open, ready, and waiting.

But we often treat Heaven like a distant dream instead of a promised destination. It can feel abstract, almost mythological — clouds and choirs and halos. Maybe that’s why so many of us are anxious about death or hesitant to hope. What if Heaven isn’t as good as we want it to be? What if it’s boring? What if we’re disappointed?

Jesus answers all of that by focusing not on the details, but on the relationship. “That you also may be where I am.” The heart of Heaven isn’t scenery, it’s presence. It’s being with Jesus. The one who knows us best and loves us most. The one who left Heaven to bring Heaven to us. The one who went to the cross, through the grave, and back again just so we could be with him forever.

If you’ve ever traveled far from home, you know the ache of longing. Maybe you’ve stood in an airport terminal or a hotel room and felt the weight of distance like you’re in between where you are and where you belong. Heaven is the home your soul was made for. And until you’re there, you’ll always feel a little restless. Even the best moments in this life — the laughter, the sunsets, the warmth of friendship, the thrill of beauty — are echoes of something greater. They’re glimpses, not destinations.

It’s kind of like snorkeling for the first time. The surface of the ocean looks quiet, even boring. But once you dip your head beneath, a whole new world opens up — full of color, movement, and life you never imagined. Heaven is like that. It’s closer than you think. But it’s more vibrant than you can comprehend.

Jesus’ words in John 14 are also deeply personal. He doesn’t send someone else to do the prep work. He says, I go to prepare a place for you. He’s involved. He’s intentional. This isn’t a generic room assignment. It’s a place that’s been made with you in mind — your story, your struggles, your personality, your redemption. And not only is he preparing a place, he’s coming back to get you.

That changes everything. It means death isn’t the end. It’s a doorway. It means grief, while real, doesn’t get the final word. It means we can face hard things with a deeper peace, knowing that this world is not all there is. Jesus is coming back. And when he does, every hurt will be healed. Every question will find its answer. Every tear will be wiped away.

Still, that doesn’t mean we sit around waiting for Heaven to start. It starts now. Not in full, but in part. When you follow Jesus, the Kingdom begins breaking in. Heaven touches earth every time you love sacrificially, forgive freely, serve selflessly, or worship wholeheartedly. Every time you live like Jesus is King, you’re practicing for home.

When we think about Heaven, it is easy to picture it as something future and far off. But according to Jesus, it’s a real place that is near. It’s not hidden behind some unreachable curtain. Heaven is just on the other side of this life. It is the most real thing about us, not the least. The things we worry about today, the frustrations and comparisons and temporary pursuits, will all seem so small when we arrive there. That truth should shift our priorities. It should calm our anxieties. If Heaven is home, then life here is preparation, not the point.

Think about how you live differently when you know someone is preparing for your arrival. Imagine being invited to stay at a friend's house and discovering they had made your favorite meal, stocked the fridge with snacks they knew you loved, and laid out a clean, welcoming space just for you. That sense of being seen and anticipated changes everything. Jesus is doing that for you. Right now. And that is not only comforting, it is compelling.

You are not forgotten. You are not one of many faces in the crowd. Jesus left the glory of Heaven to rescue you and bring you back home. He is building something beautiful and permanent for you. Something made not just for your body, but for your soul.

Apply

When your day feels heavy or your thoughts are scattered, pause and say this out loud: “This world is not my home. Jesus is preparing a place for me.” Let that truth sink in. Then ask yourself, “What would I do differently today if I really believed Heaven was real and close?” Let that shape how you speak, serve, and show up.

Pray

Jesus, thank you for preparing a place for me. When life feels uncertain, remind me that you are steady. When I forget what’s ahead, lift my eyes. Help me live today with the confidence of eternity. I trust you, and I long to be where you are. In Jesus’ name. Amen.