It was a big day in Heaven. Maybe one the biggest. You didn’t know this. Neither did I.
After all, you and I were merely going about our day, here on earth. We were doing our thing. Walking around the planet. Driving our vehicles. Buying stuff we need. Visiting Publix. Taking kids to school. Cooking supper. Making important phone calls. Paying bills. Buying hemorrhoid cream. Whatever.
Meanwhile, something huge was happening On High. Something astronomical.
You see, our lives here on Earth are so small. Sure, I know it seems like you and I are the center of the Solar System, but we aren’t. Our lives, our schedules, our concerns, our problems, they are all so paltry in comparison to the Hereafter.
It all began this morning. Heaven’s big party was scheduled for 7 a.m. There were posters all over. Even posters plastered on the Mother-of-Pearl Gates.
Everyone was coming to this party. And I mean everyone. This was going to be a party with a capital P.
All week, the angels have been fluttering around, getting everything just so. Saint Peter even booked a band. The band included the Duke Ellington Orchestra, Glenn Miller, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Ludwig van Beethoven, Strauss, Debussy, and Hank Senior was on vocals.
There was an all-you-can eat buffet that was about the size of six U.S. states. One of the administrative angels ordered an ice sculpture that was about the size of Des Moines.
There were trillions—no—centillions of people who gathered. More people than you can imagine. So many people that, when you looked into the distance, the entire horizon was made of heads.
There was an electricity in the air you could feel. The clock was showing 6:58 a.m., Earth time. Everyone was ready.
Then, suddenly, the back of the crowd started going nuts. The roar was deafening. Not figuratively, but worse, metaphorically.
Because God was coming to the party.
God wasn’t going to miss this shindig. He came escorted by cherubim and seraphim, parting through the throngs like Moses crossing the Red Sea.
It’s funny. Nobody ever expects God to look the way he does. People think of him like Charleton Heston. But, contrary to popular belief, God is not an Anglo-Saxon male who speaks Shakespearean English and looks like a celestial Santa Claus. He’s much more. The truth is, it doesn’t matter what He looks like. The point is: He’s God. End of story.
Everyone freaked out when He arrived. Soon, the whole crowd was screaming and shouting.
God hushed everyone. Because it was time.
“Will’s coming!” one angel shouted.
The crowd hushed. The band assumed its positions. Horn players pressed mouthpieces against lips. Woodwind players placed reeds into mouths. String players placed bows onto the strings. Johannes Brahms held his conductor’s baton high. Rachmaninov sat at the piano.
The gates opened.
Through the gates walked a young man. A teen. He was shy, and soft spoken. The kid came from Florida. His name was Will Carpenter.
Childhood cancer is what killed him. Alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma. It is a rare cancer, especially among kids. About 3 percent of childhood cancers are alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma (ARMS).
But, as you can see, Will Carpenter is not dead. Not even a little bit. The cancer did not win. Because Will Carpenter is more alive than he will ever be.
The first one to greet Will at the gate was the Big Guy Himself. God approached the kid. The band began to play “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”
The maker of Heaven threw His arms around the young man.
“Oh, Will,” said His Majesty.
Then, without another thought, God pressed Will’s head into his massive chest and said, “I’ve been waiting for you, son.”
Everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy. Everyone was screaming. There are no human words to describe the level of joy experienced within the celestial realms this morning at 7 a.m.
They say there are no tears in heaven. But, oh, how they lied.