I’m currently reading a devotional called, “Imagine Heaven.” It’s a compilation of hundreds of true stories about people who got “glimpses” of Heaven after having near death experiences (NDEs). 

There are astonishing commonalities in each of their stories. As I’ve read them, I’ve come to believe I had my own NDE when I was just seven years old.

I always thought it was just a wonderful dream. Not too long ago, I even asked my mom, “Don’t you think it’s odd that I can still remember that dream I had when I was a little?” 

It was the winter of 1969, we’d just gotten our first a big snowfall and my little brother Craig (who was only five at the time) and I couldn't wait to get out and play in it. After my mom bundled us up in snowsuits, mittens, scarves and hats, she sent us out to brave the elements.

We trekked our way over to a small ice-covered pond and I ran and slid across it. I broke through the ice and was completely submerged. 

When I bobbed up, I screamed for Craig to help me. He did his best to pull me out—me screaming at him to pull harder and him crying so hard the snot and tears began freezing across his face. 

“I’m trying, I can’t pull any harder,” he wailed. “I can’t do it. We need Dad.”

As he took off running for home, I begged him not to leave me. My wet mittened hands clutched the edge of the ice. I knew it would only be a matter of minutes before I wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer.

Craig barged into the house so out of breath and sobbing so hysterically that my parents had a hard time making out what he was saying. “Laurie is drowning!” 

My dad ran out in his bare feet and found me curled up beside the hole I'd fallen through. Nothing but a guardian angel could have lifted me out of that pond—weighed down as I was with my sopping wet snow clothing. My time on earth wasn't done.

Ever since my mom left this world, I’ve often expressed a desire to get just a teensy glimpse of her in heaven…it’s what prompted my best friend to buy me this particular devotional.

In my dream (that I can still remember with astonishing detail), our family was on vacation. I don't know where we were, or how we got there, but it was bright and warm and we ran up and down vibrant hills of green and marveled at all the brightly colored flowers. We couldn’t stop laughing. How did we even find this place? We were all getting along so well--we loved each other too much to get aggravated about anything (so NOT the norm on our family vacations, when just breathing on each other could cause extreme aggravation).

Not too long before my mom died, she and I both read a book about a little boy who claimed he’d been in heaven. His family became convinced it was true when he told them things he couldn’t have known any other way.

When I asked my mom if she’d liked the book, she answered that she did, but that one little detail “didn’t sit well” with her.

“The wings!” I said, before she could even voice it—which was exactly what she was about to say. Our like-mindedness cracked me up.

Neither me nor my mom liked the idea of having wings (my shoulders slump forward just thinking about them). I can only imagine them being pesky and cumbersome—making it hard to do anything (other than flying, of course).

Obviously, I know if I do have wings in heaven, I will be tickled pink— thrilled to be soaring all over the place. But right now, in my earthly body, I don’t care a whit about flying, and the visual of wings attached to me kind of freaks me out.

All this to say, my conviction that I experienced my own NDE could not come at a better time. The remembrance of the brightness, beauty, love, and laughter now fills me with expectant joy. I truly believe my “dream” was the little glimpse of heaven I’ve been longing for—and, I am happy to say, we did NOT have wings.

I attend a weekly Bible study, and quite some time ago one of the lessons left me feeling especially convicted. 

Our teacher started the lecture saying, “Dealing with Jesus is always a good deal.”

The lesson focussed on two individuals who were forever changed by their faith in Jesus.

One of them was a man named Jairus who came to Jesus and begged Him to come heal his sick little daughter. The other one we only know as the “bleeding woman.” 

Back then, the woman’s condition would have left her ostracized from society—forced to live a lonesome, isolated life. She believed Jesus could heal her, and so she bravely joined the throngs and fought her way through to get close enough to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment and was immediately healed! She could return home a new woman.

But Jesus didn’t allow her an anonymous escape. He stopped and asked who had touched His clothing. Imagine her dismay! She knelt trembling before Him, admitting it was she. Jesus reached out and touched her and called her Daughter! Imagine going from trembling fear to unthinkable joy. Not only did He touch her, He looked in her eyes, used an endearment and proclaimed to all that it was her great faith that healed her. 

The woman came expecting only to be healed but got a relationship with Jesus as well because, “dealing with Jesus is always a good deal.”

In the meantime, Jairus was growing increasingly impatient. Why wasn’t Jesus dropping everything to come heal his little girl? He continued to plead with Jesus to come quickly—before it was too late.

When Jesus finally followed Jairus home, they came upon a heart wrenching scene—while Jesus had tarried, the little girl had died. Non-plussed, Jesus told them to stop wailing, the little girl wasn’t dead, she was only sleeping and they laughed at Him. But Jesus took her little hand, saying, “My child get up.” And she did!

Jairus expected a healing, but got a resurrection! Because, “dealing with Jesus is always a good deal.”

At the end of the lecture she posed a question, “Is there something Jesus is asking you to give up in exchange for a better deal?”

My face felt hot and I heard an almost audible voice: “Boxes of wine.”

There are few things I look more forward to than getting Brett settled in for the night, popping up a bag of popcorn, pouring myself a glass of wine and settling in with a good book. I’m especially eager to get to this part of my evening when I’ve stumbled upon a real page turner. It’s my little slice of Heaven. The problem is, I buy boxed wine, making it difficult to ascertain how many glasses I’m drinking. And deep down, I knew it was getting out of hand.

On the way home, I debated whether or not to tell Bob about my conviction—because I’m not a huge fan of accountability (especially when it’s Bob the one holding me accountable). But in the end, I did tell him. 

He responded with a little too much enthusiasm for my taste, so I quickly added, “Actually, it may have just been a hot flash and I’ll probably backslide.”

“It wasn’t and you won’t,” Bob answered.

And he was right, it wasn’t and I haven’t— and it has been a good deal. There are few things I fear more than ignoring the voice of the Spirit. I heard it once said that “there’s no softer pillow than a clear conscience.” 

An absence of fear and a clear conscience—I’d say that’s a pretty good deal.