My grandma woke up with this poem running in her head and recited it to us at breakfast on Sunday, before we walked down to Wildwood sunday school under the trees. 

Oh, God, let this be heaven—
I do not ask for golden streets            
Or long for jasper walls
Nor do I sigh for pearly shores       
      Where twilight never falls
Just leave me here beside these peaks      
       In this rough western land,
I love this dear old world of thine—       
      Dear God, You understand.

Oh, God, let this be heaven—
I do not crave white, stainless robes      
       I’ll keep these marked by toil.
Instead of straight and narrow walks      
       I love trails soft with soil;
I have been healed by crystal streams,     
        But these from snow-crowned peaks
Where dawn burns incense to the day      
       And paints the sky in streaks.

Dear God, let this be heaven—
I do not ask for angel wings      
       Just leave that old peak there
And let me climb ‘til comes the night—      
       I want no golden stair
Then when I say my last adieu      
       And all farewells are given
Just leave my spirit here somewhere
Oh, God, let this be heaven!

~HR Merrill,  1930s
Wildwood cabin resident
BYU English and Poetry Professor
(this hangs in my grandparents' cabin) 

Amen. This canyon might not be everyone's idea of heaven, but it's mine. What's your idea/hope of heaven's geography?