A whispered Command

I had declined supper Friday night since I felt so nauseous. When I woke the next morning, Saturday, December 23, 2007 the aroma of coffee set my stomach to churning. Light-headed, I tottered to the bathroom. The volcano in my stomach violently erupted, spewing blood on the wall behind the toilet. I braced myself as the next bloody explosion assailed the white tile once again.
Then came the final upheaval–this time finding its mark in the toilet. My daughter, a nuclear medicine tech surveyed what now resembled a slaughterhouse and sprang into action. She communicated the situation to the 911 operator all the while calmly giving instructions to the other adults in the house. Despite the wind, icy roads and a thirty-car pileup on I-40, paramedics swiftly responded.
In the emergency room, the momentum picked up as human hands worked diligently to stop the bleeding from ruptured varacices in my esophagus. The life-saving pandemonium grated on my nerves. All I wanted was to be left alone.
Suddenly a peaceful light enveloped me, carrying me beyond the recognizable dimensions of the earth. It released me from a web of misery into vast nothingness. As the doctors and medical staff worked on me steadfast I journeyed further into the brilliance. This radiance filled the immense emptiness. Released from the shackles of my earthly flesh, I sank into its pearly beauty as I transformed into a resplendent creation. Elated I floated aimlessly and alone through an absolute peaceful silence. How could such an unfamiliar place seem so right? I drifted through the light enjoying serene comfort. Its refreshing solitude embraced me.
I heard subtle breathing. No longer alone, I wondered, “Who?” I didn’t see anyone, but I felt a presence. Then the breath spoke to me in an unrecognizable voice–without earthly qualities. So graceful, so smooth, so impassioned this burning voice. My ears were useless. The voice consumed my entire being.
“Breathe,” it gently commanded. I yielded to the loving, compelling voice.
As I obeyed, the light started fading like the setting sun. “Don’t go,” I tried to speak, but the tube in my throat prevented me from uttering a word.

Pain and discomfort attacked my body as the glow surrounding me gave way to the fluorescence of the emergency room. I thought about the soothing light that released me from all my suffering. I belonged to the blissful brilliance. This special light filled me with overwhelming joy and peace. Shadows moved about. A hazy apparition at the foot of the bed came into focus. My daughters huddled together. Grief etched their faces. The discord of the medical staff and insignificant quibbling annoyed me. The doctor’s agitated voice barked commands, “stabilize her now! We’re trying but the line isn’t working,” an apprehensive voice replied. Mystified by the astonishing encounter, I knew all would end well.

“Things happen for a reason.” This mantra is overused but effective in explaining what humans can’t comprehend.  Saturday morning, December 23, 2007 happened for a reason. What began as a chaotic, life-threatening day quickly shifted into a glorious and unforgettable experience.

Did I make it to heaven? I don’t think so. Perhaps I journeyed to the portal of God’s heavenly home. I didn’t hear cymbals and trumpets or angels’ singing praises announcing my arrival. I believe God reserves that for his beloved actually entering his kingdom.

He allowed me to taste the promised joy of the resurrection.

I am heavenly positioned.

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