“Death isn’t easy to contend with,” writes Adam Leith Gollner, author of The Book of Immortality: The Science, Belief, and Magic Behind Living Forever, in a recent Daily Beast column.  

“Imagining that we’ll live forever—whether physically or spiritually—is an elemental solace. No matter how wealthy we may be, we still can’t bribe our way out of dying. But that isn’t stopping these five ultra-rich immortality financiers.” 
 
Gollner goes on to describe the money that these five fabulously wealthy men are pouring  into their quests for immortality.

One of them is a (surprise) California venture capitalist named Paul F. Glenn, who’s a patron of the Methuselah Foundation – an organization funding such endeavors “a regenerative medicine company that applies proprietary technology to ‘print’ new organs.” 
 
Then there’s the Russian multimillionaire who is supporting efforts to back up our minds in cyberspace so we can download them into bionic avatars. 

You can't make this stuff up.
 
“I’m of the anything-is-possible school,” Glenn told Gollner. But apparently that’s not quite accurate, because he and his colleagues appear to be rejecting the simple truth about eternal life. 
 
Someone should tell them all: They already will live forever. The only question is not how, but where.
 
For the answer, they need only invest a few bucks, and some serious study, in a good Bible.  

Salvation is of the Lord. --Jonah 2:9b

It should be obvious, right? But oh, how often I forget to turn to the Lord for help when I’m witnessing to someone who is like I was: a hard-hearted agnostic or atheist who thinks Christians are, at best, wishful thinkers.

I’m always well-armed with reasons for the hope that is within me – the very same reasons that convinced me over a decade ago that the Bible is the inspired and inerrant word of God, His revelation of Himself to His creation and the truth about where we came from, what we’re doing here and where we’re headed.

But nothing good ever comes of it when I am relying on those reasons alone – or on my own stumbling presentation or hazy insights into exactly what might persuade this particular person to crack open the door of his or heart to the Lord. Only He knows precisely what should be said at what  moment; only He can prompt conversation that will lead to the planting of just the right seed; only He can soften the human heart to hear His message.

And so especially when I am preparing to share the Good News with someone who is not eager to hear it, I try to remember to take it up with Him before, during and after the meeting – to “pray without ceasing,” as the apostle Paul advised in 1 Thessalonians 5:17.

Next up: Gathering the evidence

But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts, and always be ready to give a  defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you, with meekness and fear; having a good conscience, that when they defame you as evildoers, those who revile your good conduct in Christ may be ashamed.  --1 Peter 3:15-16

Have you no wish for others to be saved? Then you are not saved yourself, be sure of that.
--Charles Spurgeon

Much to my regret and often to my sorrow, I did not become a Christian until I was in my late 40s. This was true even though I was raised in a Christian home and experienced only one serious, “how could a good God allow that?” heartache along the way – the sudden death of my wonderful father when I was just 17. (I managed my grief as many children of the ‘60s and early ‘70s managed their own: with several seasons of recreational substance abuse. Thoroughly numbed pain is roughly equivalent to no pain at all, or so the theory goes.)

Thanks be to God, my story has a happy ending: Today I’m a joyful and heaven-bound follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. But now that I’ve passed through that narrow gate, I do look back with wonder about a couple things.

Like, how I could have been so blind for so long?

I guess my story is the same as any other lost person’s: I loved my sin. Until the Lord broke me, making me see that something far more important than my pleasure and happiness was at stake, I simply did not want to stop idolizing the things of this world, or murdering others in my heart, or coveting the possessions and adventures of everyone I knew.

But there was one other factor that kept me clinging to the things of the world– and that was my ignorance. While I was fairly sure that absolute truth existed, I was even more sure that we couldn’t possibly know it in this life.

Which is, it turns out, among the vilest of lies, because it prevents us from doing what we must do if we ever hope to see heaven: to repent and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.

Where were all the Christians?

The Bible clearly tells followers of Jesus Christ that it’s the Christian’s obligation to make disciples of all the nations, to preach the gospel, to “be ready in season and out of season,” as the apostle Paul wrote in his second letter to Timothy. “Convince, rebuke, exhort, with all longsuffering and teaching,” he explained.

And yet: As far as I can recall, no one except my mother, whose death ultimately drove me to seek God, ever approached me about these things. And I’m positive that no one ever attempted to persuade me that Christianity was anything more than a waste of Sunday mornings.


Which meant that I was left to my own devices when the Holy Spirit finally spurred me into action.

“Are you sure Christianity is true?” I would ask a professing Christian.

“Yes, pretty sure,” she would say.

“Why? What’s your proof?”

Whereupon the professing Christian would look at me like I was crazy.

“Proof? I don’t have any proof. I just believe.”

Lost in a fog

In retrospect, there was one person I could’ve asked, and I’m fairly certain she could have helped. But on the rare occasion that I saw her in those months, it didn’t occur to me to ask her these questions; when I did see her, I was too busy asking her things about Christian theology, as in “what’s the significance of baptism?” and “who exactly is going to heaven?” and “what is it exactly that a Christian is supposed to do?”

She probably never suspected that I was far from committed to Christ in those days. I don’t think I could have even articulated the depth of my confusion; if you’ve been stumbling around in the dark your entire life, stepping into a daytime fog can make you think you’re seeing everything clearly now.

Not so.

Unfortunately, I inadvertently limited my direct requests for proof to people who couldn’t tell me why they believed. They just did, they said.

Maybe they couldn’t see the fog I was in, either. Maybe some of them were even in it themselves. 

What only strangers could tell me

In the end, I spent well over a year neglecting my business, my friends, and even my sleep in search of that elusive absolute truth. What I didn’t get from the Christians I knew personally, I got from strangers who loved the Lord enough to go to a lot of effort on His behalf.

And oh, what they gave me! An avalanche of scientific, historical and prophetic evidence for the truth of Christianity – and for the falsehood of every other worldview, from  atheism to Zen Buddhism, existentialism to the New Age. I found enough evidence to destroy all the lies and delusions that had kept me, for my entire adult life, from doing what the Bible says we must do to see heaven: to repent and trust in Christ.

I found these evidences in various books, and through the lectures of Bible-loving teachers on VCY America’s TV and radio stations. And unfortunately without the guidance of a real live Christian, which meant that I wasted quite a bit of time and credulity on apostate and pagan books that were filled with red herrings, wild-goose chases and rabbit trails.

But by the grace of God, I was absolutely driven to pursue the truth. I had to know, for the reasons outlined in my memoir, and I had to know now, and I wasn’t going to let anything that had once been important to me stand in my way.

What if I hadn’t been so obsessed?

What if I’d had a real job instead of my own business, and hadn’t had time to pursue the truth?

What if I’d just been your average, garden-variety seeker?

 I’ll tell you what if.

I probably would have remained confused for 7.8 months and then given up. Or I might have taken up with some apostate mainline church and left as soon as its liberalism became apparent or I realized I was still starving to death spiritually. Or I might have fallen into some branch of New Age mysticism because it might have seemed, experientially, to be true.

I am quite sure that I would not have become a born-again Christian.

Fortunately, the Holy Spirit didn’t allow any of these things to happen. He lit a fire for the truth in me that has yet to be quenched.

But I wonder: Weren’t all those professing Christians supposed to be helping me see that their faith was not just nice, but true?

Can you give a reason for your hope?

It’s distressing to me – and should be to every Christian – that so few of us share our faith at all, according to survey after survey. And it’s equally distressing that so few of us have equipped ourselves to give a reason for the hope that is in us, the hope that means not wishful thinking but, biblically speaking, confident expectation that the Lord will fulfill every last promise He has made to us.
 
The proof is still readily available to any American – and will be for at least a while longer.

Looking for proof?

Stay tuned! My goal is to post the evidences for Christianity that I found most persuasive, and suggested resources for further study.

If you can’t wait, then don’t: If science is your thing, go immediately to the web site of Answers in Genesis or the Institute for Creation Research and have a look around.

More interested in history and prophecy? Check out a site like this. 

Then consult my Everlasting Place library and consider reading those books that best match your own particular interests; I put it together specifically to help seekers avoid the wheel-spinning I engaged in as I pursued all those red herrings, wild geese and rabbit trails.

May the Lord give wings to your efforts!

At least that would seem to be the case, wouldn't it?Except that it's like saying all Germans were devout followers of Hitler. Neither statement is true ... but there are good reasons that they may appear to be true, to anyone who doesn't look too deeply.

The assertion that all scientists believe in evolution is the more dangerous of the two, because of its eternal ramifications: If  science has proven evolution beyond the shadow of a doubt, then this universe could have popped into existence without the help of God. In fact, God may not  exist at all, according to this line of thinking. And my goodness, if all scientists are in agreement on this thing, we'd be dumb to stick to our outmoded superstitions, wouldn't we?

Ah, but what if there are literally thousands of world-class scientists out there who reject evolution? That would be a different kettle of fish, wouldn't it?

A respected scientist named Dr. Jerry Bergman has put that kettle on display for all to see in his remarkable Slaughter of the Dissidents: The Shocking Truth about Killing the Careers of Darwin Doubters. It's an important book, and I hope you'll check it out soon!

 

"For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory,  while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:17-18)

 

Yesterday, I joined a group of staff, residents and volunteer wheechair-pushers from Care-age at the Milwaukee County Zoo. It was so worth spending one day of a rare vacation week on this event: A good time was had by everyone but one Chronic Complainer, and once again the care and  compassion of this particular Activities staff was showcased by countless deeds of agape love. 

The only downside to this outing (aside from being painfully reminded that I’m no longer a spring chicken) was seeing conclusively that time is flying out of control.

Here’s part of the problem: For anyone who works full-time, and especially for us self-employed types, even a vacation is governed by a hefty To Do list. According to mine, tomorrow is the only day I have nothing that must be done (except for catching up on my business bookkeeping, working on the outline for a new novel, and rebuilding the sloppy border of Herrenhausen ornamental oregano with the new perennials I picked up last Saturday between 3:30 and 4:15 p.m. at my favorite perennial nursery).
 
I slept like a rock last night in the wake of all that fresh zoo air and exercise, but towards morning had a nightmare of a sort that’s recent in my annals of bad dreams.

Our old basset hound Lucy and I were delivering garden plans to clients on a route that took us, on foot, several miles away from home. We ended up at a rocking-and-rolling emergent church, where the bouncer at the door suggested we sit in the back so we could leave immediately if Lucy made any noise. 

But the moment we sat down, I noticed a wall clock. It was 11:20 – I’d not only missed a 10 a.m. meeting at the nursing home, but had totally forgotten about the home’s 11 a.m. Christian Music Hour – and I had both the music and the hymn booklets! Lucy and I tore out of there, racing back through the maze of houses and yards we’d just visited, far too late to meet my obligations but pushing onward nevertheless.

Fortunately, I suppose, when we were halfway home, the real Lucy woke me up, eager to start her day.

But as I sit here typing, knowing I’d better get moving in order to make this morning’s 10:30 meeting about an upcoming ministry fair, I am reminded that one happy day all these deadlines will be history.

In the new heavens and the new earth that He will create to replace this fallen world -- the new world described in books such as Isaiah and 2 Peter and Revelation – there won’t be time as we know it today. Its very markers will be gone: 
  
The city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the
glory of God illuminated it. The Lamb is its light. And the nations of those who
are saved shall walk in its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory
and honor into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day (there shall be no
night there). (Revelation 21: 23-25) 

We will apparently still experience time in terms of the progressive unfolding of events. But here’s the big difference: we'll never run out of it, because we will be living in eternity. John Newton expressed it beautifully in the last stanza of his stunning hymn, “Amazing Grace”:

When we've been there ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun.

Doesn’t that imply no deadlines? No opportunities for meetings forgotten, duties undone, appointments missed? 

I don’t know for sure; it’s impossible to imagine what the implications of eternity might be. But I’m certainly hoping that this will be the case.

For the moment, the more important question is whether you’re sure you’ll be spending eternity in this land beyond time? If not, please visit www.needgod.com – it won’t take you long, and it could change the way you spend your forever. 

Just thinking this morning how we so easily buy into conventional wisdom. Here's another example: "animals have no souls, so they won't be in heaven."

Back in 2006, I came across a very interesting passage in an article in TJ, a creation scientific journals from Australia. The article was actually about plant death, not about pets at all. But the author said this: 
 
"...The creatures affected by death were those the Bible calls nephesh chayyah. When it refers to man, it is often translated 'living soul,' but, of other creatures, including fish, it is often translated 'living creature.' (emphasis mine)

Notice the phrase "it is often translated." In the original, inspired and inerrant text, apparently the same phrase is used for both man and vertebrate animals -- seems that it's just the translators who have made the distinction. 

Unless I'm missing something (entirely possible), it could mean that the translators could just as well have used the phrase "living soul" for both man and vertebrates. And if that's true, there goes the skeptic's argument that animals can't go to heaven because they have no souls

I highly recommend a book called Cold Noses at the Pearly Gates by Bible scholar Gary Kurz. It's a study in what the Lord has said about animals. He came away from his study quite sure that his pets will be awaiting him, and convinced that we can share his confidence. 

There are so many great songs about heaven ... and so many wonderful hymns that reference the Christian's eternal home. Here's the one that is currently on continuous loop in my head -- the lyrics are below the video frame.

Beyond the sunset, O blissful morning
When with our Saviour heaven is begun
Earth's toiling ended, O glorious dawning
Beyond the sunset when day is done.
 
Beyond the sunset, no clouds will gather
No storms will threaten, no fears annoy
O day of gladness, O day unending
Beyond the sunset eternal joy.

Beyond the sunset, a hand will guide me
To God the Father whom I adore
His glorious presence, His words of welcome
Will be my portion on that fair shore.

Beyond the sunset, O glad reunion
With our dear loved ones who've gone before
In that fair homeland we'll know no parting
Beyond the sunset forever more.  

"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want."  Psalm 23:1


My protector is the Lord
My all and all is He
I want no thing
I need no thing
As long as I have Thee

--Georgie Warlin

Georgie is a prolific writer of excellent prose and poetry -- her children's stories in particular are out of this world! Someday, if the Lord tarries, you will be able to buy her books. (Right, Georgie?)

It’s funny how the first person you knew with a certain name can influence your
feelings about that name forever. Thanks to memorable characters from the distant past, my list of favorite names includes Emily, Alison, Cathy, Sam, Joe, and Fred … and of course there’s a counter-list of names that give me the creeps.

And then there’s the name Maureen.

In the early 60s, when I was around 10, my daddy the civil engineer was doing some business with a fellow named Jack DeWitt. One day Mr. DeWitt brought his wife and little girl to visit us in Green Bay from their home in Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin, over 150 miles away.

Maureen was just my age, although much taller and neater than I, and she must’ve been awfully nice. Her visit has been etched in my memory by a couple of snapshots and a thank-you letter from her that has somehow survived nearly a half century of household moves and spring cleanings.

For some reason, I never came across another Maureen in the decades that followed – until a sunny Saturday August afternoon, when I came home from the grocery store to find a lovely message waiting on voice mail. It had been left by a woman named Maureen Enriquez. She lived not far from us, she said, and had just finished reading Heaven Without Her (Thomas Nelson, 2008) -- a first-person account of my journey from feminist atheism to unshakable faith in Jesus Christ in the wake of my beloved Christian mother’s death.

“I’ve never called an author before,” the woman said, “but I just wanted to let you know how much I identified with your story!”

I picked up the phone and called “Maureen II,” as I’d already dubbed the bold Mrs. Enriquez. Learning that she and her husband were new Christians with a great interest in the Bible, I invited them to my Bible-teaching New Testament church. They showed up the following Sunday and have never left.

Once die-hard feminist career junkies, Maureen and I still work long hours. So it was that nearly three months passed before we were able to do anything more than chat before and after church services. But finally, in early November, she and I met in a rustic 19th century farmhouse restaurant for sandwiches.

Over the next hour, we found to our astonishment that our lives had been practically mirror images in key respects: We’d been born in the same year and had known the joy of storybook childhoods lived out in small Wisconsin towns. We’d both been well-raised (and well-churched) by loving parents against whom we had rebelled early, often and finally completely. Our dads had both been self-made men, well-respected in their professions and communities. We’d even both been crazy about everything from dogs, horses and tiger lilies to dirndl dresses straight from Germany.
 
As we were finishing up our sandwiches, Maureen said something that prompted me to ask her maiden name – a non sequitur, it would seem, but for some reason the question just popped out.

“DeWitt,” she said hesitantly, apparently finding it an odd question herself.

I gasped. “Maureen,” I said, almost unable to breathe, “is your father’s name Jack?”

She literally did a double-take. “How did you know?”

“Did you grow up in Mt. Horeb?”

“I never told you that!”

And so it was that I discovered Maureen II was actually one and the same as Maureen I, the little girl who’d come to visit nearly a half century ago.

So unbelievable was this discovery that she even called her 90-year-old father to see if it could possibly be true. Jack not only remembered my dad, who had died in 1970; he said they’d traveled to Germany together on business back in the 1960s.

Maureen and I jabbered until the restaurant closed for the day, then parted reluctantly. It wasn’t until later that I realized I’d forgotten to tell my new old friend one of the most amazing facts of all: that in chapter 27 of Heaven Without Her, I’d named another long-ago little girl Maureen, because I flat-out couldn’t remember that little girl’s name.

This in spite of the fact that she had been my best friend during the remarkable summer of 1961, when my parents had left me, then eight, with family friends while they headed off to Europe. It was the summer that would, 40 years later, help me see the world with eternal eyes, as a heaven-bound child of God whose beloved parents have simply gone on ahead.
 
It was such a heartfelt story for me that I emailed Maureen to tell her about it, inserting a little passage from chapter 27 to jog her memory:
 
Arlene even found a playmate for me. Her name was Maureen. She was my age and lived up the hill from Arlene’s house. Her house was exotic, too: it had no upstairs, and her backyard was all wooded, and there were these beautiful flowers in front, in a bed framed by split-rail fencing. I remember in particular stunning orange blossoms with freckles, which my new friend called tiger lilies.
 
“Imagine that,” I typed. “You had such an impact on me that I even named this wonderful little girl after you!”

A little while later, Maureen emailed me back.

“My parents just about killed themselves,” she’d written, “laying down that split-rail fencing.”

Then, to make sure I didn’t miss her point, she added, “It completely escaped me that while reading chapter 27 I was reading about myself!”

I read these things through tears of joy, overwhelmed by a God who loves us enough to let us see His hand on our lives.

Perhaps that was His sole purpose in arranging this reunion. Or perhaps there are many others that Maureen and I will discover some happy day, now that we’ve both bounded through the narrow gate that leads to eternal life. Imagine how astounding it will be when we are able to examine the tapestry of this world and see the threads that have brought each of us into His kingdom forevermore!

There’s a post-script to this story. A few weeks later, right before Christmas, Maureen and I drove through a snow storm to visit her parents for a joyful reunion. We were even able to solve a final mystery: how she’d come across Heaven Without Her in the first place.

It turned out that her older brother had seen a review of my book in Acts & Facts magazine, a publication of the Institute for Creation Research in Dallas. It’s an outstanding magazine, but not one you’d find at your local newsstand. Yet he had stumbled across it, read the review, and was intrigued enough to seek the book out. Then, liking the story, he took the unusual step of sending it to his sister Maureen.

The rest, as they say, is history.