Initial Impressions (standard:Inspirational stories, 2623 words)
Author: Eutychus	Added: Nov 26 2007	Views/Reads: 3447/2155	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
As part of a Sunday School study of the Erwin Lutzer book One Minute After You Die, one assignment was to give impressions of existence after death from the pov of a person in heaven and a person in hell based on what the Bible has to say on the subject.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

think our summer high school help), had been prattling on about how we 
never knew when our time might come and how I shouldn't be ignoring the 
needs of my soul. I nodded in mock acknowledgment and promised to get 
around to it someday. Suddenly every verse from the Bible he had ever 
quoted to me was at the front of my mind. 

Those verses that had touched on the topic of hell spoke of torment.
While this vestibule area almost seemed peaceful, I had to wonder about 
the sounds being made by the other occupants of this place. And as I 
marveled at the lack of actual pain I was feeling, every decision and 
choice I made that contributed to the mindset that landed me here was 
burning my conscience as badly as any acetylene torch. 

Other verses spoke of the eternality of this place. This was it,
forever. Or perhaps not. There was to be some sort of judgment 
eventually. Maybe I would have the opportunity to plead my case. And 
then I remembered that the only advocate worth having had to be placed 
on retainer, as it were, before your death. No help there, I guess. 

If the path leading to destruction was so much wider than the path
leading to eternal life, where were all the people who had taken it? 
The relative peacefulness of my little corner of hell was deceiving. I 
was suddenly aware of how much I missed the company of other people. 
Was this what forever was to feel like? To be abandoned as though my 
existence didn't matter? Forgotten not only by God but also by anyone 
else in the same state as me? I felt panic rising up from deep inside, 
but I fought it down. Still, the more I considered my situation, the 
more reasons I saw for panic to be the most appropriate reaction. 

It seemed as though the only prayer I ever prayed had been answered in
spades. I had lived a life that told God I wanted nothing to do with 
him and then received exactly what I had asked for. God is light, God 
is love, I recalled. Here there were neither. And if my understanding 
of the story were to any degree accurate, the only time I would get to 
see God face to face, I would see him not as a savior but as a judge. 

This time I gave in to the panic and joined the chorus of unseen voices
mourning for themselves. 

I have never in my life had a thought or experience that I could not
adapt to language. But my initial moments here showed me how short 
English can fall in terms of its ability to illustrate. All the words 
seem so pale compared to what they are really describing. I mean, 
imagine having been blind from birth and then receiving your sight in 
the midst of one of those rare sunsets that colors the sky and 
landscape with a thousand shades of a hundred different colors. For me, 
arriving in heaven was rather like that. 

I was stunned by the way I felt I belonged here. Doubts no longer
nagged. Faith that was prone to waver was replaced with a growing 
certainty. This was what God had intended from the beginning. 

I found myself with two men who seemed in some way familiar. One
introduced me to the other as “our grandfather”. Him I recognized from 
old photos. The features were redeemed, ageless and without decay, but 
still recognizably the old German who had died in a construction 
accident three years before I was born. 

But the other one, though so familiar, was not any cousin who might have
made such an introduction. The only male cousin whose death had 
preceded my own did not share this particular grandfather. He obviously 
sensed my confusion and tried to help. 

“Try and remember a time before you were a teenager. Big snowstorm. Your
mom and dad spent two hours one evening shoveling the drive. You can 
remember the event. And in greater detail than you'd ever expect.” 

He was right. I recalled that Dad began the effort when it was still
light out and Mom had joined in an hour later. I filled mugs with hot 
chocolate and my sister and I carried them out to the back porch every 
twenty minutes to encourage the folks. After they finished and just 
before they came in, Mom had slipped on some ice and fallen. Dad helped 
her up and into the house. The following evening there had been some 
nervous discussion between my parents and then Mom spent a day in the 
hospital. 

“Oh no,” I said, reasoning through the events with redeemed powers of
perception. 

“That's right. The placenta had torn free of Mom's uterus in the fall.
My memories began right over there,” he said, pointing to a fountain. 
“Our parents kept their pain from the loss a private one.” 

“I'm sorry, I never knew,” I said, feeling something like tears welling.


“This is not a place for sorrow,” my grandfather said. “This is where
sorrow is made into joy.” 

And he was right, because the tears I felt were more akin to those that
came when my children were born than any shed in times of sorrow. 

I thought of my kids and my wife and wondered how they were dealing with
my sudden and unexpected exit from their lives. I found myself missing 
them, but I was also looking forward to seeing them again. It was good 
to have the certain confidence that I would see them again. 

“Everyone has at least one meeting like ours,” my brother said as he
placed his hands on my shoulders. “I've seen it a thousand times and 
have so looked forward to our meeting. I think it's a preparatory step. 
We all meet someone we didn't expect. A friend we didn't think would be 
here, a sibling we never knew we had but whom we felt we should have. I 
think it gets you ready to see the best friend you ever had that you 
never met.” 

His eyes filled with awe as he looked beyond me. I turned in the
direction he was looking and heard myself ask, “Is that...?” 

“Yes, it is,” my grandfather said. “Later you will tell me all about my
great grandchildren.” 

Though I was fully aware of other people standing around us, I also felt
like there was no one there but the two of us. 

Of all the words I might have expected to hear, the two he spoke to me
were not among them. “Hello” and my name. I understood in my head that 
my savior knew me, but to hear him speak my name drove the fact home in 
a very personal way. He didn't just know me as one face in a crowd of a 
billion, but he knew me as an individual. And for as unworthy as I felt 
to be here with him, he seemed genuinely happy to see me. 

As I stood there, I became aware of intense yet familiar emotions. These
feelings had come at moments in church when I was particularly in tune 
with the worship element of the service. But what I felt at this moment 
were not simply my own emotions but also the emotions of everyone 
around me. All the redeemed were feeling the same thing toward their 
Savior. Was this the unity that Jesus had prayed about when he prayed 
for his Church? 

He extended a hand in an invitation for me to come closer. As he did, I
caught sight of the scars. I must have stared because I could feel him 
looking at me as though trying to draw my attention away from them. 

“I would like you to do me a favor,” I heard him say. 

“Of course, Lord.” 

“I want you to remember something. What is the first plaything you can
recall?” 

I thought briefly and smiled. “A toy lamb. It was stuffed with some kind
of sawdust packing material, had thick wool, black felt eyes, and a 
blue ribbon around its neck.” 

“Yes, that's what it looked like when it was new. How did it look four
years later?” 

“It had a little bit of wool on one ear, only one eye, and a sharp piece
of the wire skeleton it was built around was sticking out of the right 
rear hoof.” 

“But you objected when your mother insisted that Butchie was no longer a
safe toy for you to play with. Considering your description of the 
lamb, why would you possibly want to keep it when your mother promised 
to replace it with something just as nice?” 

“I guess because I loved it.” 

“So it had value because you said it did?” he asked. 

“I suppose so.” 

“Then I would like you to think of this,” he said and looked down at his
wrists, “as my way of saying that you have value. I can't imagine a 
worse way to spend eternity than to be forever unsure of your place 
here. You are worthy because I say you are.” 

Any remaining uncertainty disappeared. My past actions did not figure
into the equation after all. I was acceptable to my creator and this 
was home in every sense of the word. 

“You know, this is one of my greatest joys,” he said with a smile. 

“What is that?” I wondered. 

“When you finally see yourself as I see you. I just wanted to let you
know that I'm glad you're here. We'll talk again later because I have 
some things that need to be done and I think you are just the person to 
do them. But for a while, you need to spend some time getting 
acquainted with your new surroundings. Look for a man named Ellis. He 
has something for you.” 

I was suddenly by myself again, but definitely not alone. People who saw
our meeting and had participated in the subconscious worship service 
came up to me, curious about my reaction to seeing Jesus face to face. 
After the crowd was satisfied that I hadn't been disappointed (like 
that was even possible), my grandfather returned to hear about his 
great grandkids and his granddaughter-in-law. 

“Do you know where my brother has gotten off to?” I asked after there
was nothing more to say about my family. 

“He's telling people of your arrival. He's been talking about this
moment since shortly after he arrived.” 

“I'm pleased to see that eccentricity runs in the family. The Lord told
me to look for someone named Ellis. Any idea how I should go about 
finding him? I mean, I don't even know his last name.” 

“The best advice I can give is to look for him. ‘Seek and you shall
find,' you know.” 

I scanned the horizon and saw in the distance a man waving something
above his head. 

“Drake. Ellis Drake,” I heard him call out and ran to meet him. 

“Amazing how that happens,” I said as we shook hands. 

“Isn't it though? Here, this is for you,” he said and handed me what
looked and felt like a baseball. “Admittedly it's not horsehide, but it 
will do the job. Do they still use my double figure eight design for 
the covering?” 

“I've never seen anything else. Um, thanks. Do you know why you're
giving me this?” 

“Sure. Rumor has it your brother is looking forward to a game of catch.”



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