A Little Bit of Heaven

Story-Poems

Issue #16

St. Peter’s Helper

A soft breeze rises out of the east
and lifts the souls of the dying
from their decayed bodies and
transports them to the gates
of heaven, where they are greeted
by me dressed in my finest robes.
I have many names and take
many shapes, but my labor remains
the same—helping the new souls
prepare for their final judgement
and their face-to-face meeting with
their Maker. Some here are envious
of my position. Others avoid me as
if I had the plague. My work is
not easy. The decisions I make
can affect how souls will spend
eternity. There are moments when 
I wish that God had not selected
me for this work. There are times
when I wish I could turn back
the hands of time and give a soul
another chance. And then there are
those moments when everything falls
into place, the evil ones are punished
for their misdeeds, and the good shines
through the hearts of the blessed. But
most days, things are not black and white.

One of my first tasks is helping
the newly arrived understand
what happened. Most of the souls
are confused and disoriented when
they appear before me. They have 
difficulty separating from
their physical form and do not
understand how to function without
a body. I must train them to
navigate this world. Some of the souls
deny that their body has died, and
they seek to return to their earthly
form. They fight their entrance
into our realm. Some days, my patience
wears thin with these fools. I want
to slap them upside the head and
knock some sense into them. Then I
catch myself and have to laugh. These
souls have no heads, and I have no hands.

I remember when I first came here, I
fought it tooth and nail. On earth, I was
a young man still in my twenties with
my life before me. Cancer had ravaged
my body and reduced me to a ghost
of my former self. I died not wanting
to leave my beautiful wife and my young
children. I did not want them to grow
up without a father. And I did not want
my wife to live her life in the arms
of another man. I fought death for
five long years. There were days
when I thought I had won. Had
knocked death out of my life. What
I did not understand was that death is
stronger than us mortals, and when
we think we have beaten the old man,
he pulls the rug out from under us.

I was an angry young man when
I arrived at the gates of heaven.
I cursed God and took His Name
in vain. The soul who was assigned
to help me make the transition was
very patient. She would listen quietly
to my ranting and raving, and slowly
helped me put down my burden. She
assisted me in moving beyond the pain.
I know my transition time was longer
than most. I felt cheated. That God
had pulled me out of my life before
my time. I did not understand the fullness
of God's plan or my role in it. I could
not see the future. My heart was in
the past. As my guide coached me, she
removed the veils from my eyes, and
I began to see in ways that I never 
thought possible. I began to accept that
God knew best. And when I was ready,
my guide ushered me into the presence
of God for my Final Judgement.

Some people on earth imagine this to be
a scary time. Humans so misunderstand
the loving nature of God and the role
He plays in our lives. Most religions 
glimpse only a small portion of the depth
of His nature. And then, they bury
the truth under layers of rules, regulations,
and traditions. Even those who have lived
the lives of Saints have barely gained
a fingernail's worth of understanding. 
The truth is so vast that no human could
conceive the whole. So we set up rituals 
that make us feel comfortable, but do 
little to prepare us for the transition.

Only in the presence of God did I fully
understand my purpose for being and
what God expected of me. I have come
to appreciate the importance of why
God wanted me to leave my wife and
children behind. God had other plans
for them. He has allowed me to see
how their lives will unfold and the lessons
they must learn. I know now that God
will shepherd their lives as He has
shepherded mine. I sing His praises and
honor Him with my prayers. And I serve
Him now by helping others find their way
into the everlasting bosom of God. And
I will be there at the Gates of Heaven to greet
my wife and children when they cross over.

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Notes

Over the years, I have written a few poems about the Pearly Gates and finding the way to heaven. Most attempt to answer one of the most profound human questions: what happens after death.

Many religions provide some answer to this question, with heaven being one of the most common answers. Good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell, according to Christianity. I have never been satisfied with this answer, particularly the hell part. Why would a loving god send people into the flames for an eternity?

I am closer to death than I have ever been, and yet this question still vexes me. What will happen when I die? I have read the stories of people whose hearts have stopped, and then they return to life. They talk of seeing a white light. But nobody knows for sure. No one has returned from heaven to tell us marvelous stories of streets paved with gold. And why would streets be paved with gold? It makes no sense.

We often comfort ourselves with thoughts of heaven. We feel better knowing that people we love are safe and happy in heaven under God's protection. Most people envision themselves in heaven, but only a few ever hope to wake up in hell.

Let me know your thoughts about death and what happens in the afterlife.

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Paradise

The streets
of heaven,
they say,
are paved
with gold. But it is not
true. When I last
visited, I had
to walk through
mud a foot deep,
and I fell
flat on my face.
God laughed
when I complained.
He said that
paradise is not
about riches. It
is about commitment
to the salvation
of human beings.

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