Having learned to discern which voice in my head belonged to God, I noted how clearly He made Himself be known. He spoke and framed His persistent and lucidly stated desires and directives through His love. Therefore, I now stood on the rim of a manhole up in space, or so I supposed, because I simply followed His orders. As I let the heavy air drip from my clothing I looked and saw that nothing registered in my eyesight except a brilliant, white light; although, I did not need to shield my eyes from its brightness. I wondered if maybe I were standing in the middle of a thick cloud right by the sun when suddenly two angels came hurtling at me from behind; each took an arm, lifted me, and we shot forward at the speed of light.
In no way could my eyes register what we saw or passed, but I assumed we traversed the whole of heaven before suddenly stopping as if we had never moved. Our feet stood on something solid—I have no idea what. The angels did not let go, and I had no desire to move as God, Himself, sat on His throne right in front of me. I saw Him from the side, and since His eyes were looking forward, I could observe Him. His throne appeared to be made of pure gold. The round dais and the four steps circling it were also made of gold, and the throne sat centered like an immense jewel of a ring. He gave the illusion of having the body of a man and at the same time as being made of fire.
Then He turned and looked at me. His face floated like a fire-licked log. In a circling motion His arm indicated I should go to Him, and He actually said, “Come to Me,” with a fatherly voice—yet a fatherly voice I had never heard before, not even in the movies. His voice rang with confidence, a voice that said not only did He belong there, but so did I.
The angels dropped my arms, and I looked down to see if I could walk on solid ground to those golden steps and discovered that I had the body and the clothing of a three-year-old child. Later I mused about this and thought it had been appropriate as spiritually speaking, I wasn’t any older than that, even though in my humanity I was forty. Ascertaining my footing, I then looked up and saw that the steps had enlarged to the size a three-year-old child would see them, almost insurmountable. But I scrambled up them like any toddler would do, with my hands supporting me as my chubby little legs maneuvered the upward climb. On the dais God picked me up and sat me on His right knee.
His was the most cushy of bodies, and I just leaned right into it. With His right arm around me, holding me close, He pointed down. I looked where He indicated, and I could see the earth as if I were looking at a photo shot taken from a spaceship. Then I pointed at my problems on the earth because I could plainly see them as well, but they didn’t hurt when I looked at them from God’s lap. He asked me to look into His eyes and tell me all about myself. I figured He knew all about me, so it must be me who needed to learn more about myself by talking about things.
He listened to every word. When I cried, He cried. When I laughed, He laughed. When I finished, He told me how to solve my little problems. Then, having no further conversation pressing, He set me on my feet and said, “Today you have visited the throne room of God. You come back anytime you want. This is where you will find me, and I am always available to talk to you.” Suddenly, I was back in my bedroom on Green Street in San Francisco.
At first, I made my trips to the throne room exactly the way He taught me. I’d swim in heavy air, push the manhole cover aside, pull myself up, but the very first time I tried this on my own, the angels did not come. Instead, the manhole opened right into the throne room. Then I lost sight of the manhole and became aware of a veil between the two worlds, the veil that ripped in two at the death of Jesus. On one side lay the world, and on the other the Holy of Holies. After a while, I realized that when I decided to go to the throne room, I didn’t need to swim in heavy water, I simply went. I desired to go there, and I was there.
My “Daddy,” my Father God, is always available. He never asks me to wait a minute while he finishes up with someone else. There is never someone in front of me. He really is omnipresent—meaning He can be with each one of us, exclusively, at the same time.
I was probably about five years old, spiritually, when I decided to explore heaven. . . .
Writing has been in my blood, so to speak, but when I surren-dered my life to Jesus Christ and He told me to write, all my trepidations rolled away and I began in earnest! After all, if God Almighty says it was His idea that I be a writer, who am I to stand in His way? My hope is that you not only like what I write, but that your life is moved by it, and that your party to Jesus and with Jesus turns your life into days of Heaven on Earth.