Where It Began
I had no thoughts of Heaven, not then. I had no connection with Heaven either, other than a vague hope that that’s where my father had landed when he died fifteen years earlier.
I just walked into our church one sunny November afternoon, with no idea how I got there. I think my youngest, Lucey, was in nursery school, because I had no children with me. The pastor had mentioned something about gratitude in his homily last Sunday, and while his words are usually wiped clean from my memory the instant I walk out of church, this time, for some reason, they lingered into the following week.
I knelt down and said “thanks. Thank you that my children like this new church. Thank you that we feel welcome here.”
I looked up at the large stained-glass picture of Jesus on the cross, which hung on the wall behind the altar. The afternoon sun was beginning to shine through, so the stained-glass glowed like fire. There was the Blessed Mother, standing beneath her dying Son, looking up at Him with such love. There was Mary Magdalene just behind her, head bent in sorrow. On the other side of the cross stood young St. John, also looking up, his face filled with hope. I wondered at his expression. Even now, with our Lord dying before him, he had such hope and confidence in what the Master had told him.
“I will die and rise again.”
John believed because he loved Jesus wholly and completely, in purity and truth. He had no fear, no doubt, only trust and acceptance of every single thing the Lord said to him.
I wished I could be like that. I wished I could know such certainty.
“My life doesn’t make any sense,” I whispered to the Lord.
That was when He spoke to me. He answered, His words clear and confident, echoing in my soul:
“It will, if you listen to me. Come. Hold nothing back.”
Years later, that moment is carved into my memory, like a stone tablet. It has never left me. The Lord has spoken to me many times since then, and I have written down most of His words. They are precious to me.
I long to share them with you. Come, open your heart to the possibility of His love. Then you will hear His voice and if you wish, you will enter into His heart. There, you will know such love, you will laugh with sheer delight, at being loved. Is there dancing in Heaven? How can there not be, so close to this exuberant joy that bubbles up inside of you?
I’d always hoped there was a God. I had read stories of saints and thought, “that was someone special.” But I didn’t feel any connection to Him myself. It took many years for me to realize I myself had been keeping Him at arms length because I didn’t think I was worthy.
Then, it took many more years (I’m obviously a slow learner!) to discover that was one of Satan’s tricks, constantly whispering to you:
“You’re not worthy, how dare you approach the throne of God! Don’t even think of it.”
He’s right, of course. That’s his genius, using a tiny scrap of truth, twisted, misshapen and drenched in deception. I’m not worthy, not one bit. But the One Who created me is. And I am His.
So, when I heard His Voice, something inside me woke up and recognized Him. A weight on my chest — I didn’t even know it was there — lifted. I felt lighter, freer.
When did I know there was a God? Right then. I heard Him. I knew Him. And I fell in love.
