I am becoming so weary of this idea that all religions are alike, and that all worship the same deity – hypocritical, perhaps, considering that for three decades, that was precisely what I believed. In fact, it was only when I took a serious interest in researching the subject of God’s existence, and later His identity, that I finally came to understand the truth that sets us free.
 
Here’s a sneak preview, as described on pages 139-140 of Heaven Without Her:
 
“There are, of course, dozens of other religions out there, some interesting, some pretty wacky.  I checked them out at random as their names came up.
 
“For my little research project, I included in this group those that claim to be Christian but are in reality Buddhist, Hindu, Islamic or Gnostic in nature – Christian Science and Unity School, to name just a couple.
​
"I included eminently progressive, ‘it doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you’re not a Christian fundamentalist’ groups that seem to worship, above all and often exclusively, tolerance of everything except a plain reading of the Bible. 
 
“I included bizarre worldviews like Scientology as well as explicitly evil paths like Satanism.
 
“And I included an array of religions devoted to worshipping the gods of nature, from Japan’s native Shintoism to various expressions of Native American spirituality.
 
“The only readily apparent common denominator among all these worldviews was the idea that whatever your view of Heaven or Paradise or Nirvana, what gets you there is living the right kind of life.
 
“Except for Christianity.
 
“Christianity says that what gets you there is Jesus.”
 
As I discovered, a sincere and careful exploration of the facts leads to only one possible conclusion: There’s Christianity, and there’s everything else.

"The stories I have told myself are made up in the dark; then come glimpses, broken, but brighter, fresher than this moment. Memories that perhaps are prophecies.” Mr. Despondency’s Daughter (Harpers, 1938, page 171)
 
I’m reading another Anne Parrish novel – as usual nursing each paragraph in a vain attempt to forestall the inevitable turning of the last page. Each of her books seems to me to be even more enchanting than the last; and Mr. Despondency’s Daughter may be the best of them all. (I reserve the right to update my assessment, however. I already have Sea Level and Loads of Love on deck, and from the rare online reviews I’ve been able to find, they both promise literary pleasures unknown to readers of contemporary fiction.)
 
The thing about Parrish is that, so often, I find myself stopping to read a phrase or sentence or passage over and over again, because she has expressed something I’ve been unable to put into words, some yearning that slips away just as I’m about to grasp it with my feeble old brain.
 
The quote above is a great example. For years, the sight of morning sunlight spilling over the European spindle trees and through the young leaves of a Japanese tree lilac has made me dizzy with an unnamed hunger – one that author Mark Buchanan captured beautifully in his five-star book Things Unseen:

"There you are, standing at a window watching oak leaves flutter down from dark boughs, and without warning your whole body fills with a longing for something you can't name, something you've lost but never had, that you're nostalgic for yet don't remember. You sense a joy so huge it breaks you, a sorrow so deep it cleanses."
 
I find myself awash in this emotion more and more these days, suddenly woozy at the scent of an ancient lilac or the sound of an organ playing “Lead on O King Eternal” or the sight of a particular vase my Granny owned or a collection of Steiff toys in the antique shop I retreat to when the news of this world becomes too grim to bear.
 
And now, Anne Parrish has finished the thought for me: these memories -- these “broken, but brighter, fresher” longings – may be prophecies of the glory to come, the promise of ultimate fulfillment for the child of God.
 
“For now we see through a glass, darkly,” wrote the apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:12, “but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”
 
I can hardly wait.  

 I received word this morning that “Evelyn,” the daughter of my mom’s good friend and contemporary “Agnes,” has died at age 83.  
 
At first it was a little shocking to think that at 83, Evelyn was a contemporary of mine, even though she was 20 years my senior; in fact, her son “Bill,” Agnes’s grandson, is my age. But I was a late-in-life surprise for my mom, while Agnes was a young woman when she gave birth to Evelyn.
 
Pondering these relationships has me thinking about the sorrow Bill must now be going through, as he prepares for his mother's funeral – sorrow that will no doubt dog him all the days of his life on this earth.  
 
And yet, I am also imagining the overwhelming joy that must be reigning in heaven, amongst the loved ones who are on hand to welcome Evelyn Home. Who will be there? Agnes and her husband? Evelyn's grandparents? Dear friends she accumulated as she journeyed through this life? Shepherds and teachers and acquaintances who’d been kind to her, and to whom she’d been kind in return? Even my own parents?

​What unfathomable joy they must all be experiencing, even as I type!
 
This scenario assumes, of course, that the people involved are all born-again children of God, repentant in their earthly lives over what God has said is sin and trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ to have paid for that sin on the cross – the essentials that fling open the door to eternal life for every human being.
 
But if this is indeed the case, is there perhaps a lesson for believers as long as we remain in this fallen world? Should we learn to focus not on our sorrow in the wake of a loved one's death, but instead to picture the joy with which they have been greeted in heaven?
 
And what a welcoming committee each one will have – a committee led by the Lord Jesus Christ Himself, “the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross" (Hebrews 12:2)! 
​ 
It’s a "through the looking glass" lesson my mother learned some years before she went on ahead. And it’s one we'd all do well to embrace whole-heartedly. 

​"As I studied [the Bible's astounding scientific truth] during the summer of '01, an old hymn took up residence in my head.  It was a long-forgotten hymn, one that represented what had to be some of my earliest memories.

"It was 'This Is My Father’s World,' written in 1901 by a New York pastor named Maltbie D. Babcock. (Scroll down for Fernando Ortega's rendition.)

"I remember singing this song as a little girl, sitting with my Sunday School classmates in front of the dark gothic sanctuary of Union Congregational Church in Green Bay. I probably wasn’t the only one who felt a little thrill as soon as I recognized the melody the organist was playing, delighted that we were once again singing this beautiful song about my Daddy:
 
This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
 
"And I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who turned to look for my Daddy. I remember it clearly, spotting him on the other side of the aisle, standing next to Momma and beaming back at me as I waved to him with my little white-gloved hand and sang with great gusto:
 
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.
 
"Now here I was, 30 years after his death, hearing the song over and over in my head, remembering him, and realizing that the hand we’d sung about hadn’t been my Daddy’s after all."

From Heaven Without Her, pages 157-158

I was thinking recently about how sad it is that so many professing Christians give such short shrift to the word of God these days, picking and choosing what parts of it they want to believe and obey and ignoring the rest. 
 
Someone once presented me with an apt analogy involving one Jane Doe-Blow and her beloved husband Joe Blow. It seems that Joe went off to war, leaving behind a long letter describing how he loved Jane and what he had done for her and how he hoped she would live until his return.  
 
Not surprisingly, Jane read Joe’s letter over and over, slowly and lovingly, weighing each word and phrase and sentence, reading between the lines to squeeze out every last ounce of what Joe was thinking as he wrote to her. And because she really loved him, she also obeyed everything he said about how he wanted her to live as she awaited his return.  

I don’t think that’s too far-fetched, do you? 
 
Yet when it comes to the Lord’s love letter to humanity, way too many professing Christians read a paragraph here and there and call that Bible study. They feel no need to try to learn about Him and what He did for us in suffering and dying on the cross, how He bore the sins of the world to pay our sin penalty. They are under no compulsion to find out how He operates in this world, or what He expects of us. They are not even the least bit curious about His prescription for getting into heaven.
 
After all, some minister has told them in seven words or seventy all they need to know about Him – a description they then embellish as much or as little as they please. It’s just so much easier and more fun and more acceptable to make up and obey this god of their imaginations, a god who just happens to agree with them on every last point. 
 
Which is a major reason that we end up with heresies from the social gospel to name-it-and-claim-it theology. And why, when we try to share God’s truth with these people, they have no qualms about rejecting what they’re convinced is just one more (far less inviting) opinion on the matter.
 
I suppose it’s really no surprise that this is the case today, since it’s what the Bible predicts for the last days. As Paul wrote in 2 Timothy 4: "For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine, but according to their own desires, because they have itching ears, they will heap up for themselves teachers; and they will turn their ears away from the truth, and be turned aside to fables." 

Still, it doesn't have to happen to us. Get yourself a good study Bible (I've found the Life Application series very helpful), pray for the Holy Spirit's guidance, and let the Lord being growing your knowledge, wisdom, and understanding today! 

When I was an atheist, I found several different ways to handle the pain of life and loss. 

One of my early solutions, discovered in the wake of my beloved daddy's 1970 death, was illegal drugs. "Better living through chemistry" was DuPont's motto and mine. And until it occurred to me, at age 21, that the stuff might actually be dangerous, I was able to vanquish my sorrow by simply downing a pill or smoking a little marijuana.  

Alcohol followed. Nothing like a good cold beer or two or three to chase away thoughts of never seeing loved ones again. 

And when all else failed, a good long cry often provided some relief, especially when it was propelled by the most maudlin hits of the hippy era. As I reported in Heaven Without Her: 

[It] seemed as though the entire music industry was conspiring in those days to remind me that life was hopeless and that sorrow would always be the rule. Amidst all the bubble-gum ditties and drugged-out rock of the early 1970s were heart-wrenching songs like James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” and Gilbert O’Sullivan’s “Alone Again (Naturally).”

And then in 1974, Helen “I Am Woman” Reddy released “You and Me Against the World” – a song in which a mother is apparently telling her daughter that, once one of them has died, it’s pretty much over:
 
"Then remembering will have to do,
Our memories alone will get us through …"
 
What marketing types now call the “takeaway” was pretty clear: One day death will separate us, and that’ll be it: memories only, no hope for an eternal reunion.

I played that song over and over again late into the decade, trying in vain to cry the sorrow out of my system once and for all.

These were all just temporary fixes, of course. It would take me another 20+ years and a killer heartbreak to seek comfort beyond my own thinking, and that of our culture's thought leaders.

Thank God, I found it at last in the truth of His word.