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.