I often think of looking into the gates of heaven. I have visions of standing outside these big, black, wrought iron gates( I know it’s the pearly gates, but in my mind they are iron and it is my dream) in a long line with others waiting to go inside. There is a light posted above the gate, similar to a street light, that flashes green for those allowed to enter the gates or red if denied entry.
My hands are griping the bars as I patiently wait as St. Peter flips through The Book of Life searching for my name. The book is large and worn with age. The handwriting inside is a work of art, with large, black script.
I know without a doubt my name is in the book, but I’m concerned why it is taking an eternity for St. Peter to find my name. I begin to feel weak and clammy. I go ahead and spell my last name for him C-A-L-L-E-Y to speed the process along. He apparently doesn’t hear me or is ignoring me or perhaps both. Granted, it is a thick book, but hasn’t this guy heard of speed reading? One would think that with a couple of thousand years of on the job training he would have this down with lightning speed. I decide that perhaps he enjoys the torture he is putting us through, but he’s an angel…do they get their kicks in this twisted, humorous way?
As I stand there impatiently, I think to myself…gosh, St. Peter looks old. Reading glasses on the tip of his nose, wild, gray hair that is starting to thin on the top, name tag pinned to the front of his rumpled white robe that appears to be one size fits all. I’m curious if I will be issued the same style… concerned because white has never been my color.
I then decided to concentrate on more important matters about my life in Heaven. I cannot contain my excitement about meeting my heavenly Father for the first time. What do I say? Will I ramble uncontrollably, will I be able to speak at all? Should I give Him a hug, bow in His presence, kiss his hand, wash His feet, or offer my hand as I introduce myself, “Hi, I’m Jennifer…nice to meet you God?” The word “Lame”…echoes in my head at the thought.
Although I’m not in a rush to leave this earth, I look forward to meeting my Lord face to face. I am eager to sit at His table and listen to His teachings. I know when he speaks, His voice will be as commanding as actor Sam Elliott. When He sings praises His voice will soothe like country crooner Trace Adkins. I will be spellbound, captivated, and in awe just to be in His presence.
As I stand in line, I see Him in the distance and I hear words of love spill from his lips. I see encouragement as He touches the arm of another. I see compassion in his eyes. I strain to listen as He tells (for the millionth time) how He created the earth, how He instructed Noah to build the ark, how He turned the water into wine. He chuckles when asked if he tires of the stories and of the endless questions.
St. Peter peers over his reading glasses and stares at me for what seems like hours. I’m about to ask if he needs some identification, my social security number, and the name of my closest living relative when he grins and says as the green light flashes, “Welcome home.”
Today I am thankful for my heavenly home.