I’ve never been able to accept the idea that Heaven is quiet.
When my father died, I didn’t imagine him simply at rest. I imagined him searching for the perfect pecan pie and ice cream.
Grief is a challenging experience, and there is no remedy to alleviate the pain. Losing a loved one turns our lives upside down. Most people have felt profound heartache at some point. Animals also experience grief; for instance, hearing the mournful cry of a mother elephant who has lost her young can break your heart.
My mother always told me, “Honey, you have a wildly vivid imagination!”
As a child, I escaped into a pretend world with my dolls and stuffed animals, and any sorrow I felt would disappear. When I was lonely, I would hug my big stuffed bear, and we would talk. I imagined that one day I would be swept off my feet by a kind Prince Charming, though I finally realized that most of them exist only at the end of a book.
I believe my mother thought I would outgrow my dreams, but I never did. I’m grateful because my ability to envision things has given me a clearer perspective on life – and on loss.
I see Heaven
Losing a loved one is incredibly difficult, but I have faith that God will make them whole again in another place. I don’t just believe in Heaven – I can see it.
During one of my usual summer visits with Grandpa (my grandmother), I woke up after a particularly vivid dream.
“Grandpa,” I said, “last night I dreamed that you and I were on top of a hill covered in the lushest grass imaginable. It was so soft that I didn’t need to wear shoes. There were no rocks or weeds – just perfectly even, vibrant green grass. You were beside me, and we started running down the hill barefoot!”
Then I added, “But you were different. You were the same age as me! It was a happy dream!”
Without hesitation, my grandmother took my hands and said, “Lynn, you just caught a glimpse of heaven.”
To this day, I believe she was right. I’m certain that one day I will run down that heavenly hill with Grandpa. And I have a feeling my competitive Mom will beat us to the bottom – and laugh about it.
To me, death is not an end, but a continuation of life in God’s presence. There is no need to wish or hope, as those concepts will become irrelevant. Heaven is a place without suffering or sorrow, where distrust, hatred, and pain no longer exist. It is a place we all long for, whether we realize it or not.
When people of faith are asked what they envision when they think of their friends and family in Heaven, their answers vary. Some say, “I see my loved one at peace, free from suffering.” Others say, “They are resting with the Lord.”
The vision of peace
I’ve come to understand that we all picture it differently. For me, this is the vision that brings peace.
If you find yourself in need of hope or comfort, try visualizing your loved one doing something they truly loved. See them as whole, complete, healed, and filled with joy, basking in God’s perfect light.
I see my dad, finally not losing another golf ball, while my mom tries to keep him away from the pecan pie before dinner. My brother is at the VFW, laughing with his comrades who served alongside him in Vietnam. My grandfather is likely questioning God about something he found in the Bible. Aunt Ruth is tending to her yellow roses, Grandpa is growing gladiolas, and her mom, Mollie, is planting beans in her garden. Granny Rose plays hymns on her old pump organ as Jesus stops by for a visit.
In the evening, they all gather as the setting sun washes the land in gold, praising the Lord for the gift of life in Heaven, where grief is absent and tomorrow lasts forever.
Sometimes, when I find myself in a quiet place, I can clearly see those who have passed. I hear their whispers reminding me of the stories shared and the lessons learned.
Grief often needs something tangible to hold on to. How many times does the Bible remind us about reuniting with our loved ones and that for those who believe, death is not the end? Yet, we often doubt, allowing our human nature to cloud our vision.
C.S. Lewis once wrote, “To enter heaven is to become more human than you ever succeeded in being on earth.”
And when grief reaches for hope, I find it at the bottom of that heavenly hill.