The Other Side

There is a song that was popular a few years ago.  I despise the words:

 there's holes in the floor of Heaven,
"And her tears are pouring down.
"That's how you know she's watching,
"Wishing she could be here now.
"An' sometimes if you're lonely,
"Just remember she can see.
"There's holes in the floor of Heaven
"And she's watching over you and me."

What kind of theology is that?  Where is there any comfort in knowing that someone who has died is weeping in heaven, longing to be on earth, and seeing the pain of loved ones?  Where is any desire created to go where the pains and sorrows of this world can be seen in total?  This song came to me as I, this week, have contemplated "the other side." 

About ten days ago we got word that the grandson of a friend had died of a heroine overdose.  This poor boy's life on this earth contained a wealth of misery.  His father was abusive.  His mother, a perpetual child.  He must have felt that he had no advocates.  He did have many who prayed for and fretted over him.  Several made efforts to get him the help he needed.  Only about thirty people attended his funeral.  I think of such small attendance for the very old who have out lived most of the people in their lives.  I do not think of so small a number at the service of one so young.  It spoke of his isolation. 

There is no comfort thinking of this young man's tears escaping through the holes in heaven.  Instead, I prefer to think of him resting in the arms of a loving Father, cared for and understood.  I choose to believe that he found the answers he was seeking, there on the other side.   

The autumn my father died, I was walking around a lake in a wildlife preserve near my home.  It was one of those heartbreakingly beautiful fall days we have here in Middle Tennessee.  The sky was a brilliant cerulean.  The leaves, clothed in gold and red and orange looked as if they were lighted from within.  There was a welcome cool breeze after the heat of the summer.   Moving reflections in the lake created one-of-a-kind art abstractions.  I remember feeling so sad that my father was missing all that beauty.  Then, it occured to me.  Daddy was not missing the beauty.  He was seeing it from the other side.  I figured it was even more beautiful from his viewing platform than it was from mine. 

Some eighteen years ago (can it have been that long), a very close friend died.  She had spent the weekend with her husband and children.  They had been hiking.  She loved the outdoors.  They said she sang "As the Deer," a song I can never sing without weeping now, as they tromped through the woods.  She died after they returned home.  She died in the car as her husband drove her to the hospital.  There was not time to wait for an ambulance.  Her heart had given out.  No matter how old I live to be, I will never forget how I felt the day a friend called me with the news.  I had had surgery, and was home recovering.  Friends came to my house, and we wept together, remembering our friend.

A year or so after Millie's death, Mr. Lincoln and I were driving home from Florida.  We were going through Birmingham (I think).  It was a night when the moon was full.  I remember looking out the window at the moon, enjoying how exquisitely beautiful it was.  I pictured Millie, sitting with God, and viewing that scene from the other side.   As we continued, mile after mile, I was comforted by that vision in my mind's eye.   What must that moon look like from the other side?  Scientists would give me some explanation, I imagine, but I reckon I will find out on my own when I am on the other side.

In a few minutes, I am going to a visitation.  I do not want to go.  I have tried to come up with every reason to not go.  I have a headache.  It is just going to be too hard to look into the grief I know I am going to see there.  They won't know if I come or not.  I am really not THAT close to the family.  Mr. Lincoln says I need to face my demons.  So, I shall go.  But, I am not happy to be attending the visitation for a 34 year old man who died suddenly, presumably from an undetected heart defect.  I will look in the eyes of his mother with fear and dread.  I do not ever want to know that kind of pain. 

My son and I were discussing this yesterday.  He has known an inordinate number of young men who have died from various causes.  He feels things deeply, so he is hurting.  He said it seems like it is the really good guys, who take care of themselves that die young.  For lack of a better term, it seems so unfair.  We decided that maybe we do not look at it properly.  Our humanity really does not let us see it any other way than a life cut short, and deep sorrow left in the loss.  We do not see from the other side.  We only know life from this side. 

I think we can choose to imagine life from the other side.  Not a ridiculous view of our tears flowing through the floor of heaven as we witness the trials and tribulations of this earth.  Rather, a view from the other side as, perhaps, we see the world through God's eyes.  On the other side we will witness the divinity in each person.   We will witness good hearts instead of flawed people.  Finally, at age 60, I have come to believe that is what God sees.  The potential for good and not the screw-ups.  I believe from the other side He smiles down on us.  I know there is a lot of crud in this world.  I am not that Pollyannaish, but I choose to believe that the view from the other side is spectacular, and viewed in the presence of Magnificence.

For today, I wish you courage to face your demons, I wish you a glimpse of the world through God's eyes, and I wish you

blessings