Now cracks a noble heart …. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Hamlet, Act 5, Sc 2

A few weeks ago, I had a glimpse of heaven.

I was sitting at the 9am service at my Royal Oak church and closed my eyes for a centering prayer. And that’s when the vision began.

Heaven looked a lot like the sanctuary of my childhood church. Oak pews, red curtains with the gold cross and oak altar in front of it, and the most beautiful stained glass windows you can imagine.

But, it wasn’t just the building. Two doors on either side were open. By one of them stood Red Clover. I haven’t thought of Mr. Clover in years. But he was always there at the door when I entered the sanctuary, wearing a light blue suit, including a vest and tie. He had such a jovial nature and gripped your hand in a firm handshake before he pulled you in for a strong hug. He was smiling.

Inside stood Mary Francis and Carl Babcock. They too were smiling. Mary Francis was the secretary for as long as I was a member. She had this tiny office that was cluttered with paper. Carl was the custodian. They cared deeply for our church and the church family. In fact, Carl hand crafted the deacons bench now sitting in my sun room.

Talking to them, holding a bulletin, stood Phil Phillips. Tall and kind-hearted. He welcomed me into the room.

In a pew near the middle, sat my grandparents. Granddaddy Carmichael still had his hat on…and I watched as Grandmother reminded him to take it off. Beside them sat Granddaddy and Grandmother Mahin — Gram, as we fondly called her. And beside Gram was Uncle David, his expression jovial and playful.

I sat down beside them, so grateful to see them after so many years. And they told me they were getting ready–getting ready to welcome my Daddy. That they were there to usher him in, when the time came for him to join them.

As I sat with them, I saw Dad enter. I saw warm embraces and handshakes as he greeted friends who had left this earth so many years ago. I saw the emotion in his eyes as his mother stood and beckoned to him. I saw tears fall down his cheeks as his parents held him in their arms.

But Dad didn’t sit down. He looked ahead. See, there were two doors into the First Christian Church sanctuary. And a light shone above the second. I followed Dad as he walked toward it… as he moved out of the sanctuary, down the halls, and down the stairs to the basement.

I knew where he was going.

In the basement, he walked through the steel door separating the youth play area from the kitchen. In the kitchen, Bill Eckert, a dear friend of dad’s and the Troop 7 Scout Leader, was making breakfast. The smell of his legendary potatoes filled the room. He welcomed dad in his gruff, kind way. But it was the people at the table that Dad moved toward next.

Dean Moore, Charlie Steeves, and Dottie Porter sat there. They were part of his Sunday School class. Their conversations and debates were known to extend long past the end of the hour class. In fact, my brother Jeff and I often had to retrieve our parents so they weren’t late to service!

They greeted him. Hugged him. Held his hand. I saw the tears glisten in Dad’s eyes. Then he sat down at that round table, surrounded by dear friends once again, and the conversations began.

The vision faded then. But I felt this amazing sense of peace–and gratitude. I knew at that moment that when the time came for Dad to cast off his mortal coils that I knew where he was going–and I knew who he would find there. He would find friends and loved ones that would embrace him and welcome him home.

Three days later, on December 13, 2023, Dad passed away. It was sudden and none of us were prepared for it. Dad had been such a strong, central, and driving force in our family for so many years, that his departure left a giant gash in the fabric of our lives. But, in those final hours, we all gathered together, supporting him and supporting each other.

When I arrived by his bedside in the days prior, I whispered to him and shared my vision. I like to think that he heard me. But, I know my Daddy knew where he was going and who he would find there.

As our family draws together to Celebrate his life next Saturday–one month after his passing–we will honor all he brought to this earth and all he shared with us. He was a devoted husband for 60 years, a loving, generous and giving father, a doting granddaddy, a compassionate and kind optometrist supporting patients for over 40 years, and a true friend to many. I don’t believe he knew how many people loved him–and how many lives he touched over the years. I hope he knows now.

And, I like to think that he invited Dick Cheatham, my first pastor who became a dear family friend here in Michigan, to join the Sunday School class. I’m sure if he did that they are debating Indiana University’s issues with that “funny shaped ball” since Dick was a big U of M fan. He would have a lot to add to their Sunday morning discussions.

My heart is heavy as I miss Daddy so much. But, that little glimpse into the beauty of heaven helps me. See, that church no longer stands. The day after Palm Sunday in 1989, they noticed some dust on the pews. A contractor came in and told the Board that the roof was precarious and could collapse anytime. It was condemned that very day…5 days before Easter Sunday.

The windows, in a modified format, were preserved and shine on at the new First Christian Church, Disciples of Christ in Valparaiso. But it was the Chicago Street church that was our true home…and the glimpse of heaven in that place that nurtured dad and our family brought its magnificent beauty back in glorious technicolor.

Dad isn’t alone or in pain anymore. He’s surrounded by friends, family, light, and the love of his Lord who he believed in absolutely all his days. I catch glimpses of him in odd little ways now. And, while I can’t call him on my way home from work anymore, I can still talk with him–and share what’s going on.

Rest in peace, Daddy.