If You're Looking Poem by Seamus O' Brian

For anyone who might be interested in looking me up after this life is done, I'd like to recommend a few of the more likely spots to find me.

First of all, I'm certain that somewhere in heaven there will be a spring-fed lake nestled in the kind of mountains (foothills, actually, but to us they were mountains) commonly encountered in north Georgia, and I'm pretty sure, too, that one of those lakes will have a floating swim-dock with a diving board frequently featured at summer camps across the Smokies. If it's a hot summer day, and the sun is blazing high overhead, you'll probably find me there with Mr. Hunt, one-time camp director, back flip coach, and rock skimmer extraordinaire. We'll be practicing our back flips and laughing at each other's belly flops, but feel free to come on over and skim a rock or two─we won't mind the interruption a bit.

I'm also pretty sure there will be a length of beach somewhere up there with a fishing pier stretched out over the waves. It will be a wooden pier, the kind that soaks up the summer sun and feels so good on pruny wet bare feet; the kind of pier that thrums when those bare feet pound across it trying to achieve the perfect cannonball velocity. There's a fair chance you'll find me there, running cannonballs off the end, or lying on my back, stretched out to soak up the warmth of the wood and to watch the cumulus clouds sailing by overhead.

Of course, somewhere there will be a lonely mountain that overlooks a ruggedly beautiful valley trimmed with the ribbon of a winding sapphire river, rimmed with sun-glistened snow peaks. Look for me there- somewhere near the top, sitting on a boulder—I'll probably be singing my favorite wilderness song (which happens to be my favorite hymn, How Great Thou Art) .

If you don't find me in any of those places, then I might be walking. Walking down some unwalked road. Walking down some unmapped trail; walking across worlds, across solar systems, across galaxies. If you see me, don't be afraid to say hello and chat for a while; I'd love to know where you've been—to hear what you've seen. Even I will need company every 10,000 years or so.

I won't need a mansion. I'll just need a place to sit and watch the sun set. A place to sit and rest, to know for once and all that my work is done.

This may not be theologically correct, and I am not trying to be irreverent in any sense, but I believe God understands. He made me this way.