At Heaven's Doorway

In early 1994, I spent many hours consoling my daughter Valerie after the death of her baby son, Luke Carrington. Luke’s death had been difficult for all of us to accept, especially his mother. Her long, naturally curly cinnamon-colored hair drooped around her face and the vacant place behind her deep blue eyes touched me every time we were together. She was expecting another baby in late April; still, her grieving continued.

I began writing in a journal to relieve the pressure of Valerie’s grief and the loss of my first grandchild. We experienced many supernatural phenomena such as guardian angel interventions, visions of spirits, and heavenly forces that guided our lives and reassured us of God’s love. After a year and a half of comforting her, I fell deathly ill myself.

For the previous five years, I’d worked as a recreational therapist for a community hospital outside Chicago, Illinois. One morning as I walked across the hospital parking lot and onto the sidewalk, a gripping fear surrounded me. A block away from the hospital, I gasped, desperate to take another breath. The wind chill factor had dipped to a dangerous fifty degrees below zero and the extreme cold aggravated my asthma. Inside the hospital entrance, I began breathing easier and when I composed myself, I went upstairs. On Saturday mornings I was expected to conduct the prayer service for the patients on the skilled-care unit.

During the morning break, I looked into the mirror and noticed that my porcelain complexion had darkened to a medium brown. I knew something was terribly wrong. I called my husband to see if he could drive me home after he’d finished work. Lloyd agreed with a deliberate gentlemanly air, but he wasn’t available until the end of my shift. I managed to start the prayer service until a concerned patient noticed how ill I was and asked to read from the Lutheran Digest. Relieved, I sat and watched, realizing I was too sick to work.

I called Lloyd again after the prayer service ended. I decided to drive myself home, unaware my lungs were shutting down from a combination of asthma and a severe respiratory flu, a life-threatening condition . . .

. . . When I returned home from the hospital, I changed into a fresh nightgown and climbed into bed. I thought I was falling into a light sleep, but I was actually slipping through Heaven’s doorway into a near-death experience. Suddenly I saw the spirit of my deceased grandmother hovering over me.

I smiled. She climbed the stairs for me again, I thought. Breathless, I lifted my head off the pillow and whispered, “Grams, I’m dying.”

Beyond my grandmother, three women dressed in black mourning clothes stood at the bedroom doorway. I glanced up at them, too sick to speak. I rolled over and dozed off again.

I awoke unexpectedly and found myself standing in a garden near a tree covered in pink wild roses. Beyond me lay a dirt path with tall grass growing on either side. I took a tentative step and started down the path. In the distance, the outline of a small, ivory colored village hovered on the horizon.

When I arrived at the village entrance, the exalted form of Jesus Christ stood on a platform, wearing a white linen robe and brown leather sandals. My attention centered on the illuminating light radiating from His body. He came down the stairs and greeted me with a smile. I couldn't believe He was walking toward me.

"Lord," I cried.

He cupped my face with the palms of His hands and looked into my eyes. "You are a child of the light."

"Did I die, Lord?"

"No, you haven't died. Come, we have something for you." He directed me to a white, wooden doorway.