FAD | heaven

heav⋅en [hev-uhn]
-noun
1. The dwelling of God, the angels, and the souls of those who are granted salvation.
2. An eternal state of communion with God; everlasting bliss.
3. A place of supreme happiness.

It was very bright at first, translucent.  As if waking from a dream to stare into the sun but with light not yellow but white.  Light that forces pupils to vanish.  Objects were passing through these beams but were not clearly distinguished, as I saw them, safely. The night before, I went to sleep wondering what it will be like when Jesus comes to bring His believers into Heaven.  “In a blink of an eye” - about a fifth of a second - is all the time it will take.  Before I drifted, I remembered many things then recalled one specific instance, a conversation I had as a child with a friend about the differences between heaven and hell.  At eight years old, we decided one night at summer camp that we could either have infinity’s worth of marshmallows or infinity’s worth of screaming explosions.

*    *    *

And within a few moments… I realized… I had died.  Now, I never thought about leaving and was not mentally prepared to go.  Even in my dreams I did not picture death this way: I was still aware, though unable to move and perhaps in a warm bath.  It felt like I stayed in my body for a very long time, so I rested and sang and had clarity over my thoughts.

For starters, it may surprise you to know that when you die you don’t care how.  It’s irrelevant.  Why I hadn’t thought of this earlier I could not tell.  On earth, we feel a great deal of pity for those who die but when it happens one forfeits the burden of options, you just wait.  At this time you can only think about the things that matter: not celebrity or status or race or gender or pride or ambition.  Only God. I prayed, “I always had a weakness for your mercy Lord, I thank you that it never ceased.  I know that you hear me now Lord, but you heard me then, before this peace.”  I felt euphoria but knew I did not deserve it.  I knew that I wasn’t in this position because I was right, but rather because God is Holy and Jesus is Mercy.  Everything that was true still is true, even the marshmallow prayers of a child.

My eyes focused and I started to move.  I could not stop myself and was compelled to follow what ever it was that was guiding me and in time came upon a very real place.  This place was familiar (where broken secrets were born) but now it was transformed. It too had passed into a new life.  The same smells that I recalled earlier of acorns and sticky soda cans and gravel were back-but this time-sweet.  As we walked up the steps we came upon the amphitheater, that old white outdoor chapel of my past.  No longer worn and battered, no more chipped paint, rotting wood or rusting metal.  The building was restored and was like I had never seen, perfect, with the glow hitting every immaculate angle.  My vision became clear as we climbed and I absorbed the wonder of this place.

When I was a child I depended on hands to hold me as I stumbled.  It was my mother’s soft, patient hands that guided me through vague infant memories such as these.  I held them tight in the familiar places of my mind.  The memories formed in this place were of unrelenting summer heat and mosquitoes, late night revival meetings, talent shows, awards ceremonies and the joys of a salvation congregation.  I remember my mother bringing me to this place, this amphitheater, but it was not her hand I was now clasping.

Each morning the dandelions plotted to stain your clothes and the dew waited to soak your feet.  Music and laughter lifted in the breeze and swirled around the camp in various tones of elation and melancholy.  Callow boys collected fireflies in mason jars by evening and used the radiation of insect slavery to light their late-night adventures.  They pretended not to hear their parents’ calls, never sleeping at all.  There were rumors among the boys of great snakes hiding in the stacks of hewn stone by the largest hill they knew.  The hill that supported the giant brown cross that oversaw the campground. There were rumors that these snakes protected the cross so the boys stayed away, uncertain.

When I prayed my prayer that final afternoon, I wanted all my friends to pray it too.  I caught up to my cousin on the way to Sunday supper and told him: I just got saved and I think you should too.  “Oh, well I already got saved and prayed and all that.  Then I prayed it again, just to make sure.”  And we were content as we began our lives as Christians.

My mother was not there when the amphitheater was torn down, but I was.  I saw them both disappear.  Destroyed over time: the amphitheater, my mother.  They were abused by merciless Wisconsin winters and cancer.  But before I stumbled without a hand to hold, the man I talked to grabbed me and reassured my safety.  He said that he still hears my prayers and is so much more than a building or a parent.  He is my creator and father and friend.  He is everything.  And there were no more tears, and there was no death or sorrow.  These were the things that passed us by as he led and I followed.

We walked up the hill and closer towards the building.  I looked around and noticed that the cross was gone.  So I asked him.  He said, motioning to its former place, “That, that was your gift, down there” and as we entered the arena with its semicircular tiers he said, “This, this is your reward, up here”.  He placed his hand in the small of my back as I stared at my path.  He moved me to the edge of the stage then stopped.  As I lifted my head I saw them.  They were all there, smiling, perfectly standing in each curved row one above and behind another.  They filled the shape of that place to welcome me.  I saw my mother again and all of those who had cared for me during my first life.  I would have cried if it were possible but started singing instead. We all sang, for a very long time and with tones of highest praise.  Words cannot describe.

As I turned around to reach for his hand again, I fell, not out of clumsiness but of pure adoration.  And before I could say… he said… “I love you.”

*    *    *

My hands traveled from my dream to my face and guided my real tears.  Tears of a gentle sadness.  As I lie there all I could say is, “I know.”  In a whisper, “I know,” and then, “Thank you.”  I was not easily stirred and spent the rest of the day trying to find that place again.

Writer: FAD - Future Army Dictionary is written by Eric Himes, the USA Central Territory’s Director of Young Adult Ministries who is passionate about encouraging leaders to use their unique gifts in God’s Kingdom.  He is a member of a worship band called The Singing Company and is enthusiastic about providing resources and training for corps worship bands.  He spends his time obsessing about the Chicago Cubs, Lost, Dodgeball, Baggo, Praise and Worship, creative writing, youth ministry and the future of The Salvation Army.  Eric and his wife Cathleen live in Oak Park, Illinois with their cat Salinger (pictured).  They attend the Oakbrook Terrace Corps, where he leads a Dodgeball youth outreach and community garden.

2 Comments to FAD | heaven

1. Breathtaking. Truly.
M Frye on January 8th, 2009

2. Eric, I was very moved by this. It’s wonderfully written and I thank you for sharing it with us.
Jolinda on January 9th, 2009

Leave a comment