27 April 2015


I hesitantly take my first step onto a thick emerald carpet of evenly spaced strands of grass of the same perfect height. I, then, feel the touch of distinct fragrances, like sweet kisses on my nose, from vase-less bouquets of flowers living knee-high on the borders.  I see a rainbow of exquisite colors in every direction.  The aroma of pure cleanliness is obvious.

I’m enveloped by a brilliant white liquid love floating like visible oxygen.  I am keenly aware of a constant source of Light.  There is an orderly, humbling perfection here; somehow new, yet intimate.

The Tree of Life is near.  I simultaneously smell, and taste, its uncommon fruit.  To experience the delicious, smooth texture without taking a bite causes my curiosity to soar.

What else is here?  At that question, I learn that every thought is experienced by all six senses:  smell, taste, touch, sound, sight and spirit.  Hereafter, I am filled with satisfying truth, never again to experience hunger, thirst or want.  There is complete satisfaction at every level.

There are people everywhere, yet I find myself in a state of perfect solitude, never needing or wanting to be alone.  There are animals, perfected and playful and flawless mansions, cabins and stables.

I am drawn on by the constant breeze of the breath of God pulsing to the rhythm of an invisible, eternal clock.  Leaving the emerald carpet, I step over a curb that resembles an unrolled scroll edging a wide, shiny street of gold.  The gold is so pure; it appears as a sheet of glass overlaying a six-inch layer of gild.

I hear the melodious sound of a chorus of angels, the number, I know to be billions.  Has the sound of the chorus just started?  No.  The chorus has been singing since I first stepped foot into this place.  I hear an even newer song; continuous lyrics emanating effortlessly from every plant, animal and person.  Yes, it too, has been here all the time.

Someone appears on the golden street with me; I recognize her.  She doesn’t speak audibly, but she talks to me.  She says, “Joy is present here.  A countless supply of invisible rays deposits hope and health everywhere.”

I nod, “yes”.

She continues, “Come, let me lead you into the sound of perfected praise rising to the throne of God.”

Again, I nod, “Yes”.

As we walk, she thinks that the peace here is thicker than the evil she once felt on Earth while on a special assignment.  It occurs to me that I have memories, too.  I have no remorse, just peace.  We joy together in silence when I realize that the warmth I feel is the gentle stirring of faith that flows continuously; never too hot and never too cold.

We both stop at the astonishingly loud, yet comforting, rustle of the angel chorus as they reposition each of their six wings in unison.  They begin a new version of their song, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” and we join in.


SIDEBAR:  The week following the disastrous hurricane of August 28, 2005 that devastated Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama, I found myself thinking more about death and life.  This, combined with the first instance of my Mamaw Hampton not knowing my name due to Alzheimer’s disease, became the inspiration for this article.

As a child, I spent the summers with Mamaw cooking and sewing and listening to her stories.  She repeatedly told me of visiting Heaven “in a dream” while here physical body was being marred by an archaic dentist who broke her jawbones during extraction of her wisdom teeth without anesthetic.  She was a married teenager in the early 1930’s without insurance and without money.  She may have forgotten her “eternal stroll” temporarily, but I have not.

My beloved Mamaw Hampton has been walking on the emerald carpets and streets of gold for seven of our years.  I am thankful for her teaching me to love the Lord.

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