When Language Doesn’t Convey What I Feel
Not fiction…. well, fiction for now…
I have never in my life had a thought or experience that I could not adapt to English language. But my initial moments in this place showed me how short English can fall in terms of its ability to illustrate.
Here, words seem so pale compared to what they are describing. I mean, imagine having been blind from birth and then receiving your sight in the midst of one of those rare sunsets that colours the sky and landscape with a thousand shades of a hundred different colours.
For me, arriving in heaven was rather like that.
I was stunned by the way I felt. Doubts no longer nagged.
Faith that was once prone to waver was replaced with a growing certainty.
Is this what God had intended from the beginning?
I found myself standing with two men who seemed in some way familiar. One introduced me to the other as ‘our grandfather.’ He I recognized from old photos. His features were redeemed, ageless, and without decay, but still recognizably the old Scot who had died in a sea fishing accident three years before I was born.
But the other one, though familiar, was not anyone I remember.
Granddad explained that this boys death had preceded my own.
Granddad sensed my confusion.
“He looks familiar because he is your identical twin, Harry. He died during birth. There was a big snowstorm, Harry. Your mum and dad spent two hours one evening shoveling the drive. You cannot remember the event as you were not born.”
He was right. I have no recollection.
“When your dad began the effort of clearing snow after the worst storm in a hundred years, it was still light out. Your mum joined in an hour later. I remember I filled mugs with hot chocolate and carried them out to the back porch every twenty minutes to keep them warm. After they finished and just before they came in, your mum slipped on some ice and fell. Your father helped her into the house.
The following evening there had been some nervous discussion between your parents. Your mother spent a day in the hospital.
“Oh no,” I said, as if reasoning through the events with redeemed powers of
perception.
“That’s right. The placenta had torn free of your mum’s uterus in the fall. Your parents kept their pain from the loss a private one.”
“Wow, I never knew,” I said, feeling something like tears welling.
“I’m afraid several hours after the birth of her twins, one whom died, and in two days, your mother too, died. You were given up for adoption, Harry.”
“Yes, yes, I said, I recall.” Granddad was right, because the tears I felt were more akin to those that came when my own children were born than any shed in times of sorrow. Not because I remembered the tragedy.
I thought of my kids, my grandchildren, 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,” Grandad 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 three of us.
Of all the words I might have expected to hear, the two he spoke to me indescribably emotional. “Hello” and my name. ‘Harry.” I understood in my head that Jesus would know me, but to hear Him speak my name drove the fact home in a very personal way. He didn’t just know me as a face in a crowd of a billion, He knew me as an individual. For as unworthy as I felt to be here, 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 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,” He said.
“Of course.”
“I want you to remember something. What was the first plaything you can recall?”
I thought briefly and smiled.
“A toy octopus. It was stuffed with some kind of sawdust packing material, had eightthick arms, black felt eyes, and a ribbon around its neck.”
“Yes, that’s what it looked like when it was new. How did it look four years later?”
“It had only five legs, one eye, and its body was spilling out.”
“And yet you objected when your adopted mother insisted that Octo was no longer a safe toy for you to play with. Considering your description of the octopus, why would you possibly want to keep it when your mother promised to replace it with something as nice?”
“I guess because I loved it.”
“So, it had value because you said it did,” He said.
“I suppose so.”
“Then I would like you to think of this,” Jesus said, looking 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 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 White, Snowy we call him. He has something for you.”
I was suddenly by myself again, but not alone. People who saw our meeting and participated in the subconscious worship service came up to me, curious about my reaction to seeing Jesus’ face. After the crowd was satisfied that I hadn’t been disappointed (like that was even possible), granddad 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. Nearly ninety years has passed, Harry.”
“Jesus told me to look for someone named White, Granddad. 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,’ remember?”
I scanned the horizon and saw in the distance a man waving something above his head. He called out to me.
“Snowy, Snowy White,” I heard him say those words and ran to meet him, falling into his arms.
“Amazing how this happens,” I said as I shook hands with a Snowy White looking the way he did in his youth.
“Isn’t it though? Here, Harry, this is for you,” he said, handing me a fishing rod and line.
“Snowy, do you know why you’re giving me this fishing rod?”
“Sure. Rumor has it you would have always like a brother to go fishing with.
Take your time, Harry. There’s no rush. He’s waiting down by the harbour.”
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