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 surprising 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.”
I paused, remembering the intensity of this dream . . . it had seemed so real.
“Jenn,” Margaret said gently, bringing me back to our conversation. “Tell me what happened next.”
“What happened next, Margaret, rocked my world. That same day, early in the afternoon, I called the church office to collect any prayer requests that had come in for the intercessory prayer team, which I led. The church secretary told me that “prayers are requested for Robert and his family because Carol passed away early this morning.” I was stunned. It was not expected to happen so soon, at least not by me. I could only groan with sadness. When I asked about what happened, the church secretary told me “Carol had a great day yesterday but last night she went downhill fast. According to her husband, she suffered incredible pain—it wasn’t an easy way to go.” She went on to say that Robert was home with her when she died.
“After hanging up the phone, I sat in my chair for a long time. Tears came as I mourned this beautiful sister in Christ. My heart was so sad, and I remember feeling frightened—just as I had been when I’d dreamed about my grandmother falling and breaking her back. What was this dream? It’s as if I’d had a front row seat that in every sense permitted me to witness Carol’s death. Is that even possible? And if it was possible, why?”
I looked to Margaret for an answer.
“I know this dream was distressing to you, Jennifer, but I want you to see it now for what it really was—a rare opportunity to witness the seamless transition from the earthly realm into the heavenly realm, and to understand that during this time of transition, you are never alone.
“Let’s look at the images in your dream. Carol’s family, friends, and husband, Robert, surrounded her while she was still living, and as she began the process of death, you saw ‘tall beings in white’ minister to her and eventually escort her away.”
“Those tall beings were angels, weren’t they?” I asked hopefully.
“Yes, child, they were,” she answered. “They took away Carol’s pain and escorted her Home.”
“That’s beautiful, Margaret,” I said. Instead of feeling sadness, I suddenly felt like rejoicing for Carol.
Margaret smiled as she noticed the flicker of joy in my eyes. “Death, Jennifer, is not the end of life. Death is a part of life! In your dream, Carol did not cease to exist. On the contrary, after her earthly life ended on that table, she got up and continued on. God wanted you to see this important truth, dear one. You, and all his children, are spiritual beings having a human experience. When your human experience comes to an end, you return to your place of origin—behind the veil—into the waiting arms of the One who loves you like none other.”
“Death is a part of life,” I repeated thoughtfully. “Wow, I never thought about it quite that way. I can only imagine what it will be like to walk back into Jesus’ arms like Carol did.”
“There was something in your dream that gave you a clue about that. Remember the deep, thick cushion of sheep’s wool that covered the table Carol lay on?”
Sheep’s wool. . . . sheep . . . Shepherd! “Oh, I get it, Margaret,” I exclaimed. “It makes perfect sense. Jesus is the Lamb of God, the Great Comforter, the Great Physician, and our beloved Shepherd. Carol, during the process of dying, was able to rest in the arms of her beloved Jesus. My goodness, I can’t think of anything more beautiful or comforting than that.”
“And I can’t think of anything more beautiful than Carol’s deep faith in her Savior, who comforted her throughout her illness and journey Home,” Margaret said tenderly.
“Honestly,” I said as tears welled in my eyes. “I don’t know whether to weep tears of sadness or tears of joy. Carol’s death made all of us so sad, yet now, knowing what really happened to Carol makes my heart leap for joy.”
Margaret and I sat quietly, thinking about Carol. It was now dark, and a full moon was beginning its trek through the night sky. Its bright, bluish hue seemed to increase the wondrous radiance of Margaret’s glittering white gown.
After a while, Margaret said softly, “When Jesus was preparing his disciples for his upcoming death and resurrection, he told them that they would indeed experience sorrow. He said to them, ‘Truly, truly I say to you, you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy. I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.’ Joy was part of God’s intended message for you, dear Jenn, when he permitted you to have this extraordinary dream. This is what he wanted you to know:
“Do not be afraid of death, dear child, for it is your way back home to me. I have commanded my angels to watch over you, and you will not make the crossing alone. I await your return with great joy.”
I shook my head in wonder. I had never considered that the separate concepts of death and joy could exist together as one poignant truth . . . until now.