It was heaven for me and my point-and-shoot. Light was coming at the garden from every direction. And the evening was still, no breeze, which meant our friends' flowers could hold a pose long enough for my point-and-shoot to take its time getting them into focus.
Reactions varied widely to the recent news that Alex Malarkey, the young co-author of the bestselling book The Boy Who Came Back from Heaven, had in fact been trying to tell people for a long time that the best selling book about him was a fraud.
Only a few short weeks ago it would have seemed impossible that such a vividly told account could have been made up. Who else but someone who had actually seen heaven with his own eyes would have been able to describe it so elegantly as "white," "shiny" and "perfect?"
For six years we had a wonderful marriage. However, before he died, not only did he leave me traces along the way for his departure, he left me with a deed on how I was to live through the years without him.
As I was finishing my second dessert, Jesus rode up on a rainbow-colored horse and gazed down upon me. He looked like Kenny Loggins during his "Danger Zone" period, except with bluer eyes, and smiled the most compassionate smile I had ever seen.
I strongly suspect that all reports from heaven include a great deal that comes from this world. How that happens -- how culture, psychology, and physiology relate to mystical experience -- I have no idea. But there's no such thing as a report straight from heaven.
It'd be interesting to see what we'd read if we actually considered ourselves an endangered species. We'd have to give up the pretence and get with the program; we'd have to read only what we know (or believe) we'd love.