About two decades ago, I met James[1]. He was one of my first patients in hospice. After talking a few moments, he said, “I haven’t been in church for many years. But, I was a Sunday school kid. Every Sunday, until I was a teenager, I was happy to go to church. Then there just wasn’t a lot of thoughts going on about God.”

 Mostly our conversations were around his picturesque recounts of fishing as those trips were obviously the highlight of his life. I did enjoy hearing the stories but mostly savored how, at the very ending days of his life—with an IV in his arm—he was finding solace in those memories. Not at any point within my two home-hospice visits did James talk about his illness or dying.

This was a bit concerning. I had been trained to believe doctors always prepared a patient for entering hospice, telling them medical treatment would stop as it no longer held any promise for saving one’s life. Hospice teams are experts at treating pain and fostering the highest level of comfort possible. Still, while with James, what seemed the right thing to do, was to just be there for him, letting him know I was enjoying what he was sharing. I could hear the “rivers roar,” in places . . . yet, also envision his fly fishing in the calmer, peaceful waters. He was that good with these stories.

Before my next scheduled visit to James’ house, I got a call from his hospice nurse. She said, “James was hospitalized. We don’t expect him to live beyond 48 to 72 hours.”

Arriving at his hospital room, I figured James would want to talk about this part of his journey. But, no. After rousing a bit to speak, he said, “Let me tell you about the next fishing trip I’m going to make!”

Again, I found listening was the only thing to do. Upon leaving, I did have some difficult feelings, telling myself, “The doctor has failed to tell this man the truth—he is dying!”

Early the next day I got a call from his wife, Sally. She said James had passed, then told me of their last moments, “I was sitting by his bedside while holding his hand. We were telling one another how much we love each other. Then James pulled his hand out of mine. I reached for it. But, James pulled it back. Suddenly he lifted both of his hands toward the ceiling and with a wide, wide smile, said with verve, ‘I’m going home!’”

While officiating at his memorial service I shared this exceptional story of how Sally witnessed the moment of his being “beckoned in.” Facing heaven, James found what “going home” truly means.

Children who go to Sunday school usually learn what it takes to have their names written in “God’s Book of Life.” It might have been Daniel 12:1 that James’ teacher had shared within his class, “Everyone who is found written in the book—will be rescued.”

James’ story makes me think of the Scripture in Proverbs 22:6, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”

For James, the seeds of truth about eternal life were planted in his soul at an early age, in Sunday school and perhaps by his parents. God gave him a long and enjoyable life—then, “beamed” him up.

A child may forget a prayer uttered long ago, but it is certain that God does not forget.  James’ “remembering” may have begun long before I arrived at his door, to sit a spell, and offer “a prayer.” He no doubt felt care and concern. Maybe the most precious gift we can give to one another is listening to each other’s stories, truly hearing what is said.

Humans have an inner voice (or feeling) that prompts us—guides us toward right behavior and away from bad behavior. Abundant trouble comes when a person ”sears” her or his conscience, by completely ignoring it, living only to promote one’s self. This hardens the conscience and results in our lying to ourselves, saying, “It’s OK to do it my way.”

James’ story is one of many indicating that people do at times, gain upfront evidence of what is ahead for believers after their time on earth, then to remain, yet a while, knowing “heaven is for real.”[2]

[1] Names are changed to protect identities.

[2]  “My near death experience” can be read at healing-with-Joy.com.

Years ago while driving down the road in my vintage wine-colored Monte Carlo—favorite of all my cars—I realized the meaning of “unconditional love.” At the time, I had been married to my husband Gary for 30 years. He is not one who easily says, “I love you.” Yet, he is one who shows it throughout every avenue of our lives.

As a child, my parents’ love was never spoken—yet shown through the ways family needs were provided: the roof over head, food on the table, clothing and supplies for school. Yet, I did not hear, “I love you” from parents striving to make ends meet. Instead, I learned I had “better behave.” The importance of gaining my parent’s good pleasure became eminently important to me. So, doing all possible to gain it, was my childhood quest. The message, “Love will always be here for you,” was not perceived by me.  No. The message that stuck was all about chores, being smart—getting good grades–and behaving. “You had better not mess up!” was the major message.

I did grow into loving, more than fearing, my parents as an adult. But, as a kid, I held more fear of them than any other emotion. Maybe this is normal for a lot of people. Or, maybe most children are hugged daily and told, “I love you.” We only know our own experience.

Finding love of any kind in life’s journey is the highest of all quests, finding unconditional love is a pinnacle that I dare to say few truly reach.

Our early experiences within childhood, are brought into our marriages. In my first marriage at age 17, right out of high school, the honeymoon was short. It was however, a brief experience of being adored. Whoa. That was a first. Yet, within only a number of days, I knew the hand of authority was back. The old fear of not being enough or good enough was fully felt. This lasted eight years . . . eight years of figuring out that living in constant fear was no way to live. So, the only healthy choice was to leave. The soul ripping process of divorce became inevitable for the sake of safety and sanity.

Four years later, I started dating Gary, I knew he was different from any one I had ever met, yet my early programming was so linked to “pleasing” others that I had an unspoken fear of “when is the heavy hand going to come down on my back.” Yet, that never happened. Still, that inner angst was there… expecting the worst. So, that day after 30 years of marriage, while driving down the road, I realized something about God that was actually happening in my life: unconditional love! Who knew it existed—and is real?  Finding it in a human form through Gary, allowed me to comprehend the magnanimous love that He has for us. I remember the day so clearly, while driving, when the realization came: Gary only saw me as good. My flaws, well—flaws happen. He looked beyond those. Then, I remembered something my father said after having a dream.

Dad experienced a scar-filled childhood. He, too, feared his father throughout life and was sure “that guy” would not be in heaven. Although, during his later years my grandfather had changed and was in church every Sunday.

As my father was nearing death he shared a dream in which his mother and father  were walking arm-in-arm into a huge banquet room—in heaven. He knew it was heaven, but he couldn’t believe his Dad was there. Then, within the dream Dad heard these words, “I only see the good.” Voila! Here is love—unconditional love. And, this is the message God has for us.

And, this is the truest and greatest gift of Christmas. God looked past the sin, the brokenness of this world, and sent His Son to save us from ourselves. Left alone, there would be no eternity with God for any one of us. But, Jesus came to us, knowing He would shed His blood to cover the tab for our mis-steppings, and all the grossness that comes through the human race’s self-importance and self-adoration. Now, through Him, God sees “price paid” as He cherishes His children. It is the all-pervading, all accepting love of God that has provided this truth for God’s children: He only sees the good!

Here is an amazing truth from John 1:5, 12, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” Now, for verse 12 of John 1, “But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name.”

What a difference it makes to grasp this truth. For, it is the truth of God’s unconditional love that empowers and impassions those He calls—and we know when that call comes!

I was told I may die during or after the surgery. Or, if I survived my legs could turn blue and large like old fashion piano legs. As a mother of three teenage sons, ages 13, 15 and 17, I decided the surgery was my only option. For years, my blood had been thinned by taking Coumadin, or Heparin to control clotting episodes. Now, I had three days to wait for my blood to be thick enough for surgery. The question was would I live three more days.

My Christian faith was strong. I knew if I died heaven would be my next destination. Strangely, what I feared was being placed in a grave. Through my years of dealing with pulmonary emboli (clots in lungs) I had prayed, “God, please don’t let me die during the winter.” I knew the climate where we lived would mean being buried in a cold grave, topped with snow.

During the three days of waiting for the surgery, I had a vision. I saw a dark, heavy-tempered gate with the word “DEATH” at its top. I was afraid, trembling in my bed. But, then I could suddenly see the opposite side of that gate. It was a great and glorious pearl from heaven’s side. A “little girl” danced up to the opening and said, “Just step across!” She looked with a great smile and beckoned me, saying, “It is just one step.” Although she coached me several times, I could not take that step. But, this vision ended my fear of the grave. I realized I was not my body and that I will have only to move through the gate when death came.

I did survive the life-saving surgery and recovered. One day while driving my car, I suddenly saw a part of that vision, once again, and immediately realized something about the little girl. It was as if I was being divinely told, “That is your daughter”—and I instantly knew that this is true. Years earlier, I had a miscarriage between my first and second sons. Nearly three decades had passed when my heart prompted me to receive the truth:  The vision had allowed the little girl I wanted, yet could not hold in my womb, to minister to me that night when I was so close to death.

From then on, I knew even more surely there is a heaven—and this precious little girl is waiting for me to “cross over.”

The beautiful part is that I was given many more years, as the surgery was highly successful. I lived to raise my family and to enjoy a long, loving relationship with my dear husband, Gary Smith.

I am now getting close to the time when people normally die. I know death is coming, yet I have no fear at all. It’s like knowing a trip is around the corner. However, on this trip I cannot take anything with me, not even the costly crowns on my teeth. So, I pray to do all possible to become all that God knew I could be when He first saw me conceived. I also believe none of us get to be entirely finished—totally ready to meet our Maker. We have flawed natures, which most likely we will be trying to conquer when we draw our last breath.

The wonderful news is that the Lord Jesus has forgiven our sins. Upon repentance of them, we are washed to the core—cleansed, ready for eternity.

“For God has not destined us for wrath, but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ,  who died for us so that whether we are awake or asleep we might live with him” (1 Thessalonians 5:9-11).

Joy Le Page Smith is a Board certified clinical chaplain, mental health counselor and author of four books.  Comment below, if you wish.