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The Wind in the Door

Someone very very dear to me died yesterday.


Although he was given a good long run—98 years of robust life—I wished even longer for him.

Once again, I’m reminded that I’m not God. (Thank God).

For many years, I’ve prayed daily for this man’s soul. In the last six months, my family and I prayed his heart would open to the truth, that he would renounce his adamant atheism; that God would have mercy on his soul (which at least one atheist now acknowledges is necessary).

But this side of heaven, I’ll never know what my dearly departed decided during his last days on earth.

In my heartache, which is severe, my hope keeps returning to something like this:

 A man on his deathbed turned to his physician and mumbled, “What is Heaven like, Doctor?”  
       How could the physician describe Heaven in such brief moments? As his mind searched for an answer for his friend, the doctor heard his dog scratching at the door. 
        “Can you hear my dog, scratching at your door?” inquired the physician.
        The sick man assured him that he could. 
       “Well,” the doctor said, “Heaven must be like that. My dog does not know what is in this room. He only knows he wants to be with me. So it is with Heaven. Our Master is there. That is all we need to know!” 
 — James Jeremiah, The Place Called Heaven



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