To Heaven and Back (8 page)

One usual teaching of resuscitation is the need to detach oneself emotionally from the specific individual being resuscitated and focus entirely on the CPR protocols until the individual is either revived or pronounced dead.

Contrary to their teaching and experience, Tom, Kenneth, and Chad were never able to let go of the fact that it was I, their friend, who was being resuscitated. While they went through the steps of CPR, they continually prayed for my return and continued calling to me, “Mary, you cannot leave us. We know you are here. Come back. Please take a breath,” again and again. They felt as though time had stopped.

When I finally took a very large gasping breath, they were not sure whether it was a recovery breath or merely agonal breathing, the kind of gasping that usually heralds an approaching death. When this breath of mine was not immediately followed by a second one, they called to me again and pleaded for me to take a breath. I followed that repeated call with another single, labored breath and then stopped. They resumed their calling, and again I rewarded them with a single, gasping breath. This pattern continued again and again.

Each time I took a breath, their emotions rose to “total lightness.” Each time I stopped, they sunk into “total darkness.” Each breath returned their sense of time to “normal.” Each time I stopped, time stood still for them.

Occasionally between these infrequent breaths, I let out an eerie and unnatural wailing scream. It seemed to them that I thought I was still trapped, and it was heart wrenching. They continued to plead with me and to pray. After what seemed like an eternity to them, I began to breathe more regularly, and time returned to “normal.”

The current was strong and slowly pulled off my helmet and lifejacket before trying to claim my body. While still in the boat, I was seated with my legs stretched out in front of me under the front deck of the boat. I was bent forward at my waist, and my body and arms were lying on top of the front deck, pressed down by the force of the water. I was facing downstream and, as the current worked to pull my body from my boat, my body was forced to bend around the front edge of the cockpit. This was not a problem for my hips, which normally bend in
that direction, but my knees were forced to fold back upon themselves in order to free my body.

It was a relatively slow process, during which I was conscious, alert, and fully aware of what was happening. It sounds rather morbid but from an orthopaedist’s perspective, I was intrigued as I felt my knee bones break and my ligaments tear. I tried to analyze the sensations and consider which structures were likely involved.

I seemed to feel no pain, but wondered if I was actually screaming without knowing it. I did a quick self-assessment and decided that no, I wasn’t screaming, and really wasn’t feeling any pain. I felt curiously blissful. This is quite a remarkable statement considering I had always been terrified of drowning.

While my body was being slowly sucked out of the boat, I felt as though my soul was slowly peeling itself away from my body. I finally felt my body release from the boat and begin to tumble with the current. That was the last physical sensation I had with regard to my body. I do not remember scraping along the bottom of the river, bumping into Chad, or being pulled to the river bank.

At the moment my body was released and began to tumble, I felt a “pop.” It felt as if I had finally shaken off my heavy outer layer, freeing my soul. I rose up and out of the river, and when my soul broke through the surface of the water, I encountered a group of fifteen to twenty souls (human
spirits sent by God), who greeted me with the most overwhelming joy I have ever experienced and could ever imagine. It was joy at an unadulterated core level. They were sort of like a large welcoming committee or a great cloud of witnesses as described in
Hebrews 12:1 (ESV)
: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses … and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” This welcoming committee seemed to be wildly cheering for me as I approached the “finish line.”

While I could not identify each spiritual being as someone by name (for instance, as Paul, my dead grandfather; Mrs. Sivits, my old babysitter; Steven, my neighbor; or other such individuals), I knew each of them well, knew they were from God, and knew that I had known them for an eternity. I was a part of them, and I knew they were sent to guide me across the divide of time and dimension that separates our world from God’s. I also had the unspoken understanding that they were sent not only to greet me and guide me, but also to protect me during my journey.

They appeared as formed shapes, but not with the absolute and distinct edges of the formed physical bodies we have on earth. Their edges were blurred, as each spiritual being was dazzling and radiant. Their presence engulfed all of my senses, as though I could see, hear, feel, smell, and taste them all at once. Their brilliance was both blinding and invigorating. We did not speak,
per se
, using our mouths, but easily communicated in a very
pure form. We simultaneously communicated our thoughts and emotions, and understood each other perfectly even though we did not use language.

God’s word is certainly not limited to one language, and I gained a new understanding of the biblical description of Pentecost. In that story from
Acts 2:5–11 (NIV)
, it is written; “Jews from every nation were staying in Jerusalem. Suddenly a sound came from heaven and the Holy Spirit began to speak. The Jews and the visitors heard declarations of the wonders of God and they were amazed, bewildered, and perplexed because each person heard the declarations in their own native language.” I now understood entirely how this could be. God doesn’t need verbal language for communication.

My arrival was joyously celebrated and a feeling of absolute love was palpable as these spiritual beings and I hugged, danced, and greeted each other. The intensity, depth, and purity of these feelings and sensations were far greater than I could ever describe with words and far greater than anything I have experienced on earth.

Don’t get me wrong … I have been very blessed in my life and have experienced great joy and love here on earth. I love my husband and I love each of my children with great intensity, and that love is reciprocated. It’s just that God’s world is exponentially more colorful and intense. It was as though I was experiencing an explosion of love and joy in
their absolute, unadulterated essence. The only earthly thing I can begin to compare this difference to is television; when you compare images on an old-style cathode-ray-tube television screen to the ones on a new high-definition television, the HD images are almost painfully crisp and clear in their relative brilliance and clarity.

Regardless, it is impossible for me to adequately describe what I saw and what I felt. When I try to recount my experiences now, the description feels very pale. I feel as though I am trying to describe a three-dimensional experience while living in a two-dimensional world. The appropriate words, descriptions, and concepts don’t even exist in our current language. I have subsequently read the accounts of other people’s near-death experiences and their portrayals of heaven and I am able to see the same limitations in their descriptions and vocabulary that I see in my own.

In Ned Dougherty’s account of his near-death experience in the book
Fast Lane to Heaven
(Hampton Roads, 2002), he writes “Suddenly, I was enveloped in this brilliant golden light. The light was more brilliant that the light emanating from the sun, many times more powerful and radiant than the sun itself. Yet, I was not blinded by it nor was I burned by it. Instead, the light was a source of energy that embraced my being.” His description, like my own, probably seems nonsensical to anyone who has not shared this type of experience, but it is really pretty accurate.

Even writers of the Bible had difficulty describing their encounters with God’s angels. Matthew described his encounter with an angel of the Lord this way: “His face shown like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow”
(Matthew 28:3, NLT)
. Daniel wrote: “I looked up and saw a man dressed in linen clothing, with a belt of pure gold around his waist. His body looked like a precious gem. His face flashed like lightning and his eyes flamed like torches. His arms and feet shone like polished bronze, and his voice roared like a vast multitude of people”
(Daniel 10, NLT)
.

My companions and I began to glide along a path, and I knew that I was going home. My eternal home. We were returning to God and we were all very excited. My companions could barely contain their unbridled enthusiasm and were eager to announce my return, celebrating it with all the inhabitants of heaven. As I was drinking in the beauty and rejoicing with my companions, I glimpsed back at the scene on the river bank. My body looked like the shell of a comfortable old friend, and I felt warm compassion and gratitude for its use.

I looked at Tom and his sons, and they seemed so terribly sad and vulnerable. I heard them call to me and beg me to take a breath. I loved them and did not want them to be sad, so I asked my heavenly companions to wait while I returned to my body, lay down, and took a breath. Thinking that this would be satisfactory, I then left my body and resumed my journey home.

We were traveling down a path that led to a great and brilliant hall, larger and more beautiful than anything I can conceive of seeing on earth. It was radiating a brilliance of all colors and beauty. I believe that when people with near-death experiences describe “seeing the white light” or “moving toward the white light,” they may be describing their moving toward the brilliance of this hall. Our vocabulary is just not rich enough to describe the experience in a way that is understandable. Perhaps this is why Jesus often spoke in parables.

I felt my soul being pulled toward the entry and, as I approached, I physically absorbed its radiance and felt the pure, complete, and utterly unconditional absolute love that emanated from the hall. It was the most beautiful and alluring thing I had ever seen or experienced. I knew with a profound certainty that it represented the last branch point of life, the gate through which each human being must pass. It was clear that this hall is the place where each of us is given the opportunity to review our lives and our choices, and where we are each given a final opportunity to choose God or to turn away—for eternity. I felt ready to enter the hall and was filled with an intense longing to be reunited with God.

There was one notable obstacle to my reunion: Tom Long and his boys kept beckoning to me. Each time they begged me to come back and take a breath, I felt compelled to return to my body and take another breath before returning to my journey. This became tiresome, and I grew quite
irritated with their repeated calling. I knew they didn’t understand what was happening, but I was annoyed that they wouldn’t let me go. I liken it to the irritation that a parent feels when their young child keeps asking for more things before going to bed: a story, a glass of water, the light on, the light off, the covers arranged, another kiss, and so on.

We arrived at the entrance to the hall, and I could see many spirits bustling about inside. They all turned to look at us as we began to enter, and they communicated great compassion and love. Before we could go inside, however, an oppressive feeling of grief and sadness descended upon my spiritual companions and the atmosphere became heavy. They turned to me and explained that it was not my time to enter the hall; I had not completed my journey on earth, had more work to do, and must return to my body. I protested but was given several reasons for my return and told that I would soon be given more information.

We shared our sorrow as they returned me to the river bank. I sat down in my body and gave these heavenly beings, these people who had come to guide, protect, and cheer for me, one last, longing glance before I lay down and was reunited with my body.