“I have also heard heaven described as sitting in a beautiful garden with Jesus, an eternal church service, and a mysterious misty-looking place where spirits just kind of drift around.”
At the mention of the drifting spirits, I heard another unangel-like sound erupt from Margaret. She had her hands clapped over her mouth, but I could tell she was beaming from ear to ear. “That’s a funny one!” she giggled.
“Well, I am relieved you think it funny, Margaret,” I said, “because that means it is not so. Heaven is a very mysterious place to us humans, you know.”
“Yes, I do know,” said Margaret, “and as one who resides in heaven, I am greatly enjoying this conversation. Tell me some more impressions you have heard.”
I thought for a second, and then a bright smile lit my face as I recalled a precious memory of my mother’s. “My mother recently told me that when she was a girl, she’d thought that when it was your time to die, a huge platform would be lowered from the sky by big ropes. You would jump on the platform and then be raised up into heaven.”
“Oh, how darling. I love that!” exclaimed Margaret, clapping her hands. “Her description reminds me of a giant swing.”
I nodded, smiling. “I like that one, too. So, Margaret, you live in heaven. Can you tell me what it is really like?”
“I was wondering when you were going to ask me that,” she laughed. “There are no human words to accurately describe heaven, child. I can assure you, it is a marvelous place—beyond marvelous, actually. One day you will see it for yourself with new eyes, and you will be overjoyed. But, I am not permitted to tell you anything more than that. I can only help you understand the little glimpses our Father has shared with you.”
“I think I’ll stick with the glimpses for now,” I quipped. “I’m not in that much of a hurry to find out for myself!”
That drew a hearty laugh from Margaret.
“Okay, now, dear girl,” Margaret encouraged with a glimmer in her eye, “tell me about your grandfather.”
My face must have registered my shock, because Margaret laughed. “I can’t believe you know about that!” I gasped. “I keep forgetting you are an angel . . . of course you know. My very first, really serious glimpses into heaven came from my beloved Granddaddy Gordon, my father’s father.
“Granddaddy Gordon and I had a very special relationship. We loved being together. We took walks, worked in the garden, and we talked about lots of things. He always told me he was proud of me, and that meant so much to a young lady who was very naive and needed improvement in her self-confidence. Granddaddy had a heart condition. If I remember correctly, he had what was called hardening of the arteries. He experienced several heart attacks before he died. Ten years before he died, he suffered a heart attack, but that time an amazing thing happened to him. He said when he had this episode, he was taken to a beautiful garden. He was standing at one end of a footbridge that crossed over a gently running stream. At the other end of the footbridge was a beautiful woman, dressed in white. She called him by his name—‘Gordon!’—and told him he must not cross over the bridge to her because his time on earth was not finished. He so very much wanted to cross the bridge, but was firmly told no.
“From then on, Granddaddy told this story and talked fondly about ‘his angel.’ This was really big to me, because by that time I was nurturing a deep, personal relationship with Christ, and I had often wondered where my beloved granddaddy stood with regard to God. He was raised in church, but something happened later in his life to turn him away. Thankfully, the loving influence of his second wife, Myrtle, led him back to his faith. It touched my heart to hear him talk openly about his angel. I thought it was wonderful that God would nurture his beloved Gordon’s renewed faith through a planned encounter with one of his angels.
“Ten years later, Granddaddy Gordon finally got to cross the bridge in the beautiful garden and returned home to his Lord. I was devastated, yet thankful for his presence in my life and that he was now home with my beloved Jesus. The one thing I did not expect was that my relationship with Granddaddy wasn’t over. He had a very special gift of love to give me after he died. When we arrived at the funeral home for visiting hours the day before the funeral, I went up to the casket to see him. This is not my favorite thing to do, but my heart was broken, and I loved him so much that I wanted to see him one more time. When I looked at him, I was really taken by surprise. The man in the casket was not my beloved granddaddy. He looked like him, yes, but the essence, the person I knew and loved, was not there. This was the first moment in my life when I realized, unequivocally, that there is a soul, and that when someone dies it leaves and goes to a better place. That was my granddaddy Gordon’s final gift to me. It was poignant, personal, and eternal. In fact, to preserve that moment in my memory, I took a small yellow rose from the spray covering his casket and placed it in my Bible, so that whenever I came across it, it would remind me of his precious gift.”
I paused a moment to take a sip of my water while it was still cool—the ice was melting quickly. As I placed my glass back down on the table, I noticed Margaret was holding something in her hands. It looked—why . . . it looked like a yellow rose!
My dear angel friend reached out and placed the delicate yellow rose in my hand, folding my fingers gently around the stem with her own. I waited for the prick of the thorns and then realized that there weren’t any. Margaret held my hand in hers and said softly, “This, Jenn, is a special rose, because it is from heaven. Take it and put it in your garden, and tend to it carefully, for it will grow and flourish. I want you to have something alive and beautiful to remember your special grandfather, for just as the rose is, he is.”
Her last words flooded my heart with comfort. I brought the rose to my face and inhaled its wonderful fragrance; it was like nothing I have ever experienced before. I had a big lump in my throat and it was hard to get any words out, but I managed to nod and say “Thank you” as I buried my face in the rose again to whisper a quick prayer of thanks to my Father in heaven for this marvelous and precious gift. Then I carefully placed the rose in my water glass to sustain it until I had a chance to plant it.
When I regained control of my voice, I continued with my story about Granddaddy. “Granddaddy’s story still doesn’t end, Margaret. God has given me a spiritual gift that I cannot put a name to, and I know of many others who have experienced this same thing. Occasionally, while I sleep, I have experienced what I call visits from Granddaddy Gordon and several others close to me who have died. When I see him, I walk and talk with him. We are always so happy to see each other, and he looks younger than I ever remember him. He seems to just ‘check in’ every once in a while.
“Another special visit was from a dear friend, Ed, whom I met while working as a volunteer at a local hospital. Ed was seventy-three years old, and we were assigned to deliver lunches and flowers to new mothers. We became instant friends and shared many wonderful conversations. Ed had undergone extensive chemo treatments for cancer the year before we met and was in remission. But, sadly, the cancer returned with a vengeance. At the end of his life, he was also diagnosed with ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease. It seemed particularly harsh for him to be suffering from two dreadful diseases at the same time. Though I only knew Ed for a brief period of my life, he held a very special place in my heart. Several months after his death, I had a dream visit from Ed. He was bathed in a beautiful blue light and looked so well and happy. He smiled at me and said, ‘They are working again, Jennifer!’ and he wiggled his legs. In my dream I was confused and did not understand what he meant. Nevertheless we continued to talk, and then Ed told me that now that he had let me know he was okay, I would not hear from him anymore, and true to his word, I haven’t. When I woke up, I thought about our conversation, and then the realization struck me that Ed had been referring to regaining the use of his legs, which he had lost shortly before he died. Greatly comforted, I was able to let my friend go, knowing he was renewed and happy.
“What I also realized was that during these and other dream visits I have experienced, there is an unmistakable sense of excitement in the air. As if those I am visiting with are waiting, in anticipation of something.”
“What do you think they are waiting for?” asked Margaret.
“I confess, I don’t know. Seeing their loved ones again, maybe?” I guessed.
“You are very close,” said Margaret. “They are waiting for the return of Christ, when all will be reunited with him in his eternal Kingdom. When you see and experience the anticipation of those you have had visits from, be encouraged that those gone before you know there is something infinitely more wondrous to come!”
A flutter of excitement began in my heart and quickly spread throughout my whole being. I could only imagine the wonders awaiting us.
“Margaret, this has been an amazing day. Today I witnessed a dazzling display of color and light as our angel friends returned to heaven, and then I received this precious rose as a gift to remind me that Granddaddy lives in heaven. Both are startling in their testimony that the realm of heaven is present, active, and vibrant—as vibrant as those magnificent, breathtaking colors.”
“God has shared some precious glimpses of heaven with you, my child,” Margaret agreed, her amusement evident in those twinkling blue eyes. “And let me leave you with a thought about those breathtaking colors. The next time you see a rainbow in the sky, picture in your mind God cracking the door of heaven open, just a wee bit, to look down and say ‘I love you.’ And as he cracks the door open, like he did today in your backyard, some of those magnificent colors spill out, forming the rainbow. God said to Noah regarding his rainbow, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.’ So every once in a while, our Father delights his earthly children by sending the rainbow as a reminder of his love, his promise and his presence.”
“Now, that is the most beautiful description of a rainbow I have ever heard.” My mind whirled with images of rainbows I have seen, and one in particular jumped out at me. “Hey! Guess what? I even have rainbows in my hair!”
My angel laughed her soft, musical laugh and nodded. “And?” she prompted.
“When I am out in the sun, sometimes the wind blows my hair into my face and around my eyes. The strands nearest my eyes become magnified, and I can see teeny, tiny rainbows dance up and down the strands of my hair. That has always intrigued me.”
“It is no surprise to me, sweet girl,” said Margaret matter-of-factly. “You have the very DNA of God in you because you are his child. Of course you have rainbows in your hair!”
I sat in amazement of that revelation and a smile slowly crept across my face. Margaret finally stood and stretched. “It is time for me to return to that beautiful place I, and many that you love, call home. Go happily about your day, Jenn, and I will return this evening. Tonight I want you to share with me your dreams of death and heaven, for they contain powerful revelations. I guarantee it will be a very special evening. Oh, and keep your ears open, because I think God has a special message to share with his rainbow girl.”
Before I could even manage a word of good-bye, Margaret faded into the sunlight; her blue-and-green gown shimmered and merged with the blues and greens of the sky and trees around us. Her familiar scent of white roses lingered behind.
I looked down at the table and the glass containing the single yellow rose. Remembering Margaret’s instructions, I found a perfect spot in my garden and planted the rose, thanking God again for this special living gift to remind me of my granddaddy’s life in heaven. I asked him to nurture and protect it, and to grow it someday into a beautiful rosebush.
As I dug in the soft, sandy soil, I suddenly heard a faint whispered response to my prayer:
“I love to send you glimpses of your future, sweet child of mine. Your days on earth are but an instant compared to the joyful existence that awaits you in my forever Kingdom. P.S.: I felt your embrace as you twirled in your backyard this morning. Thank you.”
A surprised laugh escaped from me at those last words. Shaking my head in utter amazement, I stood, brushed the dirt off my knees, and went inside to tackle the growing pile of laundry that had been waiting ever so patiently for my attention.
Death and Life
And the dust returns to the ground it came from, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.
ECCLESIASTES 12:7
Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with Me in paradise.”
LUKE 23:43
A chorus of tree frogs began singing their evening vespers as I went out to the garden to await Margaret’s return. The air was considerably more pleasant now, and a soft breeze gently tickled my wind chimes. Shadows crept across the yard as birds scouted the last few bites of food before returning to the comfort and safety of their nests for the night.
As I stood looking out at the backyard, my gaze fell upon the yellow rose I had planted earlier in the day. I did a double-take as a slight gasp escaped my lips. I had planted a single yellow rose, but there in its place was a small yellow rosebush! I shook my head slowly, smiling. God never failed to astound me with his glory and grace. Margaret was right. He so loves to surprise his children with gifts of love.
A soft, musical laugh interrupted my thoughts, and I looked over to the chairs by the garden to see Margaret standing there. She was an ethereal vision of light. Her gown was a soft white, shimmering with a radiance that cast a faint glow all around her body. I sensed that she had just come from the presence of the Holy Father himself and was still reflecting his glory.
“I see you followed my instructions, Jennifer,” she said, her eyes sparkling with joy.
I rushed over to her and asked, “May I give you a hug?”
Without answering, Margaret reached out her arms and folded me into the most wonderful embrace. I leaned my head on her shoulder and just melted into the love and comfort that flowed out of her and into me.
After a few moments she released me and motioned for us to sit down in our chairs.
“When I left you earlier today,” said Margaret, “we were beginning to discuss your insights about heaven. Your next revelations are nothing short of little miracles sent to you from the realm of the Almighty. So now, sweet daughter of God, I want you to tell me about your friend, Carol.”
Carol. I sighed as a twinge of sadness tugged at my heart. “I met Carol in choir practice at my previous church. Actually, I sat next to her. More often than not she closed our rehearsals with a prayer, and she prayed so beautifully and from the heart, I could tell she had a very personal relationship with Jesus. I learned from others that five years earlier she had been diagnosed with and had undergone treatment for breast cancer, and was in complete remission. What a living testimony to God’s healing and grace she was! Then one day, when it was time for our closing prayer, she asked if we would pray for her, because a routine cancer follow-up test was showing something that should not be there. As time went on, it became clear the cancer had returned and had spread.
“Carol amazed me with her grace, her bravery, and her joy in the midst of her battle with this terrible disease. She seemed to care more for our grief than she did for her own, and she continued to offer her beautiful prayers in choir practice, determined to keep singing. She sang with us for our Christmas and Easter cantatas. Then the cancer spread to her brain and walking became difficult as it affected her balance. She began using a wheelchair and was not able to come to choir practice, but did come to church with her beloved husband, Robert, whenever she felt up to it. One of her goals was to finish her treatments and be well enough to sing with us again at Christmas. Our hearts broken, we knew Carol’s cancer was terminal, but we all prayed to keep her with us for as long as possible, and that she make her Christmas goal.”
“Carol was an inspiration to all who met her,” said Margaret tenderly, “and I believe you have learned that inspiration can come in rather surpris
ing and mysterious forms, including your dreams. Would you share your dream about Carol with me now?”
I nodded in agreement as I began to tell my angel about a most extraordinary dream.
I am standing in a great hallway of an ornate, old building. High, arched windows run the length of the hallway on both sides, and smooth marble covers the walls and floor. The building has a museum feel to it and reminds me of photos I have seen of the New York Public Library. There are lots of people moving about the hallway in both directions, but no one I know. Then the crowd parts, and I see Robert coming toward me, pushing Carol in her wheelchair. She is wearing a short white hospital gown. It looks as if she is “holding court” as people approach and talk to her. I also approach Carol and, not knowing if she can see or hear me, I say, “Carol, it is Jennifer.” She replies, “I know, and I am doing a little better.” Then I am pushed along in the crowd away from her. The hall suddenly becomes very quiet, and I realize that no one remains but me, Robert, and Carol. Carol rises up out of her wheelchair and says, “I have to lie down awhile. I’m not feeling very well.” She stumbles over to a table I had not noticed before. It reminds me of a sturdy, wooden physical therapy table, and it is covered with a thick, deep cushion of sheep’s wool. Carol lies down on the table and buries her face in the thick wool. As she settles into the wool, she begins to moan and then begins to scream in agonizing pain—soul-piercing, terrifying screams that make me so frightened I cannot move. My heart wrenches and I feel like I cannot breathe. I can only watch in horror, hopeful that the deep, thick wool will bring comfort to her, and I am thankful it is muffling her screams a bit. As I watch, “others”—tall beings in white—appear and, along with Robert, surround the table so completely that I can no longer see Carol. Then the tall beings in white do a curious thing. They begin slowly and deliberately waving their arms side to side above Carol, back and forth, back and forth, as if they are somehow ministering to her. Carol’s screams become muffled and quieter. Finally, the screaming stops altogether. The tall beings part and step back from the table, and Carol raises herself up on her hands and knees, crawls backward, and steps off the end of the table. As soon as she stands up, three of the tall beings in white surround her, linking their arms with hers. They turn and move slowly down the hall away from me, Robert, and the table. As she walks away, I notice that the backs of Carol’s legs are a fiery, angry red. I wonder to myself if these red areas are where the pain has just left her body. As Carol disappears with her escorts, I feel a sense of relief—she is okay now. As I awaken, it is very early in the morning. I lie quietly, shaken, very glad it was “just a dream.”
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