Heaven: One Step Away

I'm at the Trinity Episcopal Labyrinth in St. Charles, unplanned and unprepared, yet I’m exactly where I need to be. A simple errand – dropping off a check I’d forgotten to mail – has become divine appointment. This is how Spirit works: our lack of preparation becomes God's perfect timing.

Here's a universal spiritual truth that never fails: No matter how far you feel you've wandered – though it may seem like 10,000 steps away – it's only ever one step back to center. When we stop showing up, when busyness becomes our armor against commitment, when our excuses feel ironclad, we convince ourselves we've drifted too far to return.

Yes, you're busy. People depend on you. But you have agency. If something is truly priority, decide accordingly. Your needs will be accommodated. Balance can be achieved. And here's the grace: you need feel no shame about the inevitable drift. It's simply part of the cycle. We ebb and flow, move closer to the sun and further away. But the rotation is continuous, reliable. It always comes back around.

As I walk this ancient pattern, I'm reminded of Matthew 18:3-4, which appeared unbidden on my Bible app last night – divine timing again. It speaks of recovering childlike innocence, but more importantly, verse 4 delivers this truth: we must drastically change our thinking, or we experience hell on earth and miss heaven entirely.

Looking in the mirror lately, I see age, time, vulnerability – but also beauty. I see myself as a bridge between generations, between past, present and future. I don't see a stranger unless I've been disconnected from Truth for too long. When that happens, I want to look away.

What I've promised myself and others – that I'll continuously move forward without losing ground – isn't always realistic. In the cosmic sense, I've never lost ground; I'm always gaining in aggregate. But moment to moment, I'm inconsistent. I get excited, energized, extrapolating as if this exact momentum will continue indefinitely. It can't. It's not sustainable. I forget that, then I let myself and others down.

My track record is spotty. But what I offer is unique – something only I can bring. For those who appreciate that, I believe there's patience and forgiveness extended.

Standing now in the labyrinth's center, I gain perspective. There's only one way in and one way out. As I pause here, a breeze feels heavenly. Shade rustles, wind chimes sing, leaves shimmer and dance. Some are already turning red, some have fallen. It's easy to forget how beautiful everything truly is.

My reputation with myself is being restored today, anchored, broadened, growing beyond anywhere it's been before. I have eight months of writing Morning Pages – three full pages every day before continuing into tasks. That's something I didn't have a year ago. I have a spiritual community built up, ready, waiting. I have work that's entrusted to me because I'm the only one who can do it. I have my family's love.

When we're connected, we don't need to hide. We have energy to show up, focused and clear on priorities – on what only we can do, what we're capable of, what's too much, what steals balance.

Today's spirituality is sufficient for today. When we try to push today's God-connection into the future, it becomes distorted. Humility and sanity are about being reasonable, committing the right amount to the right things.

I ran adrift recently. Isolated myself. Got sick and tired. But now multiple synchronicities pointed me back to God. And here's the beautiful truth I'm living: heaven is just one step away from wherever you've been that isn't the right place. You can turn on a dime and experience God's mercy, grace and beauty. Everything you've walked away from or put on pause is still available to you.

You can find yourself, without planning to be, back at the very first labyrinth you ever walked, at the church housing one of your first AA meetings – a place connecting you to divine gifts and divine timing.

This is the promise: We're always just one step from return, one decision from realignment, one breath from remembering who we truly are.

Written by Andrew Hicks