The Pearly Gates

A couple of weeks before my mom passed away, I took her to dinner at Machine Shed Restaurant where Brad and Meghann worked as servers. I can still picture her sitting in the gigantic booth chowing down on a plate of liver and onions ... yeah, I know, that's disgusting to me, too, but Mom loved liver and onions. I don't remember what we talked about at the restaurant that evening, but I do remember what we discussed once we got back to her apartment. I helped Mom change into her nightgown, made sure she took her medication and tucked her into bed. When I leaned down to kiss her cheek, she said, "Sit down here on the bed ... let's talk about heaven for a minute before you leave." Though it concerned me a bit that Mom wanted to talk about heaven, I sat down next to her and took her hand in mine as I asked, "Heaven, huh? Why do you want to talk about heaven, Mom?" Much to my surprise, Mom had a lot to say about heaven that night ... enough that I sat on her bed for almost an hour listening as she shared her thoughts and questions.

Mom began the conversation about heaven by asking me if I thought my dad would be 27 years old in heaven ... according to Mom, Daddy was really handsome when he was 27. She talked about my brother Jerry and how his death changed her forever, and I remember saying as tears filled my eyes, "Me, too, Mom ... me, too." She wondered if there would be food in heaven and if the streets really are made of gold. She asked what I thought Jesus might look like and how His voice would sound when He spoke her name. Mom's eyes lit up when she talked about walking through the pearly gates of heaven and seeing Jesus and Daddy and Jerry and her parents waiting for her. She said she hoped there weren't dogs in heaven ... Mom never did like dogs, or most animals for that matter. Her eyes filled with tears when she spoke of things she felt she had done wrong in her life, and how she hoped that God wouldn't be terribly disappointed with her. But when I kissed Mom goodbye as she began to yawn and close her eyes, she said something that has stayed with me ... something that will always stay with me. She looked deeply into my eyes and softly said in her sleepy, tender voice, "I'm going there soon, Terrie, and I'll watch for you to get there. Right by the pearly gates ... that's where I'll be watching for you to get there."

I've thought more about heaven in the last year and a half than I ever have in my entire life. I guess maybe that's normal for someone who was 10 minutes away from checking out and taking my chances on whether or not I would make it through those pearly gates where Mom said she would watch for me. Last week after speaking at the conference for mental health professionals, the woman leading the session allowed the doctors and counselors in attendance to ask me questions, and yes, some of them were difficult to answer. But one question in particular simply will not leave me ... a question posed to me by an older gentleman ... a question that I believe he asked with all sincerity and respect ... a question that has caused me to think a ton more about heaven since last Wednesday. But before I share both the man's question and my reply, I should probably let you know what I was asked to speak about at the conference. I was asked to tell my story ... all of my story ... to the group of doctors, and part of telling my story means talking about the role my church and my faith played in me not telling the truth about who I am. I think it was because I spoke about God, church and my faith that the gentleman asked me about heaven. And I think I'll close with his question and my answer ... sleep well, friends ... sleep well.

"Because of your background of faith, do you really think you'll go to heaven?"

"I hope so ... I do hope so, because there are some people there I sure would like to see again. My faith has taken a huge beating over the last year, sir, but I hope so."