Deadline

by Randy Alcorn

  Good-bye, Angela. I will see you soon…one way or the other.

  Silence prevailed, releasing him to drift from that end of the passageway toward the other. Angela’s words renewed his resolve to try to stay in the old world, not for his sake but for hers and his family’s. The other world reached out to him, gripping him with growing strength. If the choice were his, and nothing but his own welfare was at stake, it would be no more difficult than the choice between a bright sunny ocean beach and the dark shadows of a crime-infested slum. But he knew the prerogative over life and death wasn’t his. The choice belonged to Another. He was glad, because this was the only way he could be sure the choice was right.

  Soon another voice drew Finney back to the entry point, a voice beautiful in a different way than Sue’s and Angela’s. This voice belonged to a boy, still high pitched but bubbling with youthful masculinity. For a moment Finney hesitated, looking over to the far end of the passageway, thinking he’d been mistaken, that this special voice came from there, from the world beyond. It had an unearthly quality. But no, it couldn’t be. In his mind’s eye, Finney turned again to the entry end, the world he’d come from, and listened attentively to the voice.

  “Hi dere, Dada. Mama says maybe you can hear me and maybe you can’t, so I should just talk like I dink you can. Is dat okay wid you?”

  Finney smiled, wondering if the smile made its way to his lips. It’s more than okay with me, bud. The words stayed at the level of thought. Finney finally resigned himself to the fact that the road between his thought and speech had been washed out.

  “I was at Martin’s house when Mama called me from da hospistal right after the football game an said dere was uh accident. Martin’s Mom, Mrs. Janic, she drove me to da hospistal. She didn’t know if she should park in da mergency place or by da big doorway. She said she didn’t want to get in trouble or park in a doctor’s space or get towed or nothin’. Finally she said ‘Shucks, I don’t give a darn, I’m just going to park it here.’ Really, Dada, she didn’t say dat exac’ly. She swore, but Mama told me I shouldn’t repeat da swear words. She’s a nice lady and I never heard her swear before, but Mama said she was just scared or somethin’. I’ve heard Martin swear a few times, but not too bad. Mama says you didn’t get to see da second half cause of da accident. So I’ll just tell ya all about it since ya didn’t see it or nothin’, okay?”

  Yes, Little Finn, tell me all about it. Finney didn’t care about the game. He cared very much about hearing this precious voice, as inviting as a stream of cold water to a hot and thirsty hiker. It didn’t matter where it flowed, only that it did. Little Finn talked on and on, holding Finney as close as he could get to that end of the passageway.

  Finally he heard a kind and only vaguely familiar voice. “He needs to rest. You can see him later.”

  Let them stay. They’re the only rest I need. Finney said it, but no one heard.

  How much time passed Finney didn’t know, because he was between a world with time and a world without it. This was an odd feeling, but not unpleasant. His sense of anticipation deepened as he heard music, singing, conversations, and laughter at the other end. Remarkable laughter. Not like the response to a joke’s punch line, where there’s a moment of delight before returning to a world of burdens, but the spontaneous laughter of sheer joy that shows no signs of stopping, uninhibited by the dark cloud of stark reality. People always remarked about Finney’s hearty laugh. But this laughter was something more, something enchanting, alluring, enticing. It made him want to run full speed to the other end and leap unreservedly into it, losing himself in the wonder beyond.

  Finney was torn between two worlds. He longed for the anchor to the old world to be pulled up, freeing his ship to sail to the new shore, to step forth as Columbus or Magellan on new land, and above all to meet the inhabitants of that land. He longed for the labor pains to end, for the birth to take place, for the umbilical cord to the old world to be cut at last.

  Finney lost himself in thought, wondering if the memories of this time would fade if he went back out to live the rest of his life on earth. Would the sensations and distractions of that world cause him to lose touch with the experiences and insights here in the passageway? He earnestly hoped not.

  Suddenly Finney embarked on a strange adventure. He was now viewing what seemed to be a motion picture of his entire life on earth. He thought it must have been edited for it to pass so swiftly before him, yet it seemed complete, every life incident intact. Somehow he was able to comprehend it. He saw it with the objectivity of an outsider. He very much liked some things he saw, and disliked terribly other things. The life portrait began in a dark and warm place, a secure enclave, where at first he could see only a subdued opaque sort of light, and could only hear muffled sounds and a steady reassuring pounding noise nearby. His mind raced through the cinema at a torrid pace, like a fallen leaf down powerful rapids. He felt he should be dizzy, yet Finney was able to thoughtfully view it as if it were a course summary at the end of the term.

  “I’m Sue Keels, Finney’s wife. I’m also an emergency room nurse. Dr. Milhall’s been letting me stay here with him. I’m not in the way, Doctor.”

  “Yes, no doubt,” came the unfamiliar voice. “Mr. Keels has persistent friends and family, I’ll say that for him. We can’t seem to keep them away regardless of the rules.”

  “If you knew him, you’d understand why,” Sue said.

  That’s Sue, Finney thought. So loving and loyal. More than I ever deserved. Thank you, Lord.

  “Jake, good to see you. How are you?”

  Jake! In here? Then you’re okay, old buddy!

  The unfamiliar voice said, “I caught him sneaking around ICU. He needs to get back to his room. We’re on our way.”

  The thought of Jake sneaking up and down corridors like a commando tickled Finney. His clarity of thought surprised him. Weak as his body was, he was hearing everything, as if the dramatic presentation of his life that ended not long ago had sharpened his touch with his former world. If only he could open his eyes and see as clearly as he was hearing. But Sue’s and Jake’s faces were so clearly etched in his mind’s eye he didn’t need to see them.

  Silence reigned again. Finney could sense Sue’s presence very close to him, as she held his hand and stroked his cheek. He breathed in her perfume. Its scent was inseparable from her. He could sense her silent prayers, almost hearing the words forming in her mind. At one point Sue let go of his hand and a larger tougher hand awkwardly took its place. It was Jake. Finney knew this must be hard on him. He prayed, Father, help Jake through this. Show yourself to him. Give him the grace to turn to you.

  Finney didn’t know how he could be alert enough to understand all this, yet so weak he couldn’t make Sue and Jake know he was there. The thought occurred to him that he was separating from his body, and every inch his body was losing, his soul was gaining. He felt as if he were an egg timer turned upside down, leaving only a short time until the last grain of sand that was his life would move from one receptacle to another. Suddenly another voice jerked him back to the room.

  “Hi dere, Unca Jake.”

  Little Finn!

  “I hope he doesn’t die. But if he does, he’ll be in heaven, ya know.” Affection and pride warmed Finney.

  “Don’t talk like that, Little Finn. I promise he’ll make it.”

  The decision isn’t yours, Jake.

  “Know what I told Dad dis morning? I told him if he dies to be sure and give my sister Jenny a big hug, and tell her it’s from me. I told him not to forget. Mama says he probly heard me, because people in hospistal beds always hear more than we dink. Right, Mama?”

  “Right, Finn.”

  Right, Finn. I’m hearing everything, at least for now. I don’t remember hearing you say to hug Jenny, but somehow I knew you’d said it. I won’t forget, Little Finn. I won’t forget.

  “Finn, I need to read to your Dad now, so you listen, okay?” Finney felt the gentle comforting weigh
t of Sue’s Bible leaning up against him. He could smell the old worn pages mixed with her perfume, creating the most beautiful hybrid fragrance.

  “This is from the last two chapters of Revelation.”

  “Revelation is da last book of da whole Bible.” Finney smiled, though his lips didn’t move. He guessed Sue was smiling too. Yes, she was smiling. But how could he see her when his eyes were closed? He listened intently as Sue read of a new heaven and new earth, and the promise that God would forever be with his people. He knew who awaited him on the other side, and the very thought moved him to tears, good tears, right at the moment Sue read, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes.”

  Suddenly Sue stopped reading. Finney longed for her to continue. He faintly felt something, perhaps a tissue, on his face, miles away from him. Was he crying? Yes, now he could see his own face, as if above it, looking down. He saw the back of her hand as Sue wiped away his tear.

  The words of God penetrated him, electrified him. Finney understood them better in his present state than when his body was functioning normally. Perhaps part of it was there was nothing to distract him. Thoughts of business and travel and yard work were gone. Distractions of television and radio and the morning paper, of telephone and computers had no place here. There was nothing to focus on now but what was worthy of his focus—the very words of God.

  Sue continued to read, “Behold, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to everyone according to what he has done.”

  Finney’s crystal clear perspective on the room below startled him. This was not imaginary. The images grew more vivid by the moment, his vision improving rather than fading. He could see Little Finn’s cowlick, and Jake’s slight bald spot, and the pages of Sue’s Bible which were facing away from his body lying on the bed, but toward him as he hovered invisibly above. Like a dry sponge he soaked up every word Sue read, all the while feeling as if a powerful winch cable was tightening, ready at a moment’s notice to pull him beyond the reach of earth’s gravity.

  Abruptly he realized that in moving away from the hospital room, he was moving toward the other end of the passageway. And he was not alone. Someone was escorting him. Not coming to get him, but leaving earth with him. It was a huge and powerful being, looking like a man but somehow different, with placid but purposeful face, striding like a nobleman warrior. He looked battle-worn. Finney sensed he should know this being. But thoughts of the one beside him faded as the voices and images at the other end became more vivid and alluring. What had been background noises and movements now shifted to the foreground. The sound of Sue reading in the room was still clear and captivating, but the volume diminished to a whisper while he hung on every word.

  “Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.”

  Finney’s head jerked forward and let out a gasp of wonder. This time it bridged the gap between thought and action, erupting into the room. In his peripheral vision he saw a startled Sue, Jake and Little Finn, but his eyes looked not at the old world but at a new one. Suddenly the tent stakes had been pulled, the ropes to the boat landing untied. Finney was cut loose.

  He moved beyond and above the room, seeing Angela in the waiting room with her husband, her head bowed. Though her prayers for him were silent, he could clearly hear them, every word. He wanted to go to her, to hold her hand for the last time before his exodus, but he could not. He said “good-bye” to his loved ones, though he knew they could not hear him. At the same time he realized this was not the end of relationship, but only an interruption. Today’s inadequate goodbye in this place would be followed by a wondrous hello in another. And though he did not know what the place he was going would look like, everything in him was eager to go find out.

  Finney could now see many excited images at the far edge, some reaching in toward him. The other, his mysterious companion, now marched ahead of him. The giant slipped out the passageway’s end artfully, as if he’d done this before, and moved immediately to the side. Another great being greeted the giant with what appeared to be a salute. Finney moved more slowly, more tentatively, like his first time on water skis. This was the first time he’d ever died.

  The crowd visible beyond the passageway grew with each step he took. Some faces he did not recognize, many he did. He took the last step—or was it the first—and entered the new world. As he came out the end—or was it the beginning—over the threshold, he gasped his first breath of heaven’s air. The gasp was a gasp of wonder at the beauty of this place, and the magnificence of its inhabitants. His only earthly experience he could compare to it was the first time he’d been snorkeling, in the Red Sea, when he went beneath the surface and saw the incredible multicolored beauty of the ocean and its wondrous inhabitants. He remembered that loud startling sound very near him, then the realization it was the sound of his own gasp in his snorkel. This was such a gasp, but as much greater than that on earth as the place he was now seeing was greater than that marvelous underwater world.

  Many hands grabbed Finney’s, which he stretched out toward them, as if to confirm they were real. He must have some sort of body, since he could feel their touch. This struck a chord of familiarity. It had happened before. Or something very much like it. Yes, of course, when he was born into the other world. The passageway had been the birth canal between earth and heaven. And these were the midwives of heaven, supervising his birth, pulling him into the world, fussing over him and proudly presenting him to his new family. This was the real world, which he’d been no more capable of imagining before than an unborn child can imagine the infinite wonders that lie beyond the womb.

  There to greet him was a beaming female face he was sure he knew, yet how could he, for it was so bright and beautiful, more majestic than any face he’d seen until that moment. This must be someone holding a place of great honor here. Finney was accustomed to recognizing body first and character second. But here it was the character, somehow coming out, that made him then recognize the body. At that very moment he heard his name on her lips—“Finnegan!”

  “Mom!” The others cheered and laughed and nodded.

  “Welcome, Finnegan.” His mother’s flowing tears surprised him, but apparently tears of joy had a place here. She threw her arms around him, and he embraced her tightly. He’d missed her so much. He remembered with joy the role he’d played in sharing the good news with her, as she had shared her life with him. She was there to give birth to him and embrace him after his entrance on earth. And here she was now, the first to embrace him in heaven.

  Part of him, the part still fresh from earth’s air of skepticism, could not believe anything so wonderful could be true. Being new to this place, he didn’t yet understand that things which are true are by their nature wonderful, and things that are truly wonderful are inevitably true. He kept hugging his mother and wanted to talk with her, but with all the others surrounding him, he had to content himself to talk only briefly for the moment. It was much as the bride and groom cannot have lengthy conversations with each other in the reception line after the wedding, but know there will be time ahead for that. The rest of heaven’s welcoming committee, hundreds of people hand picked for the new arrival, swarmed around him like bees around the queen.

  Finney looked at his welcoming party and wondered if they were wearing special attire or if this was simply the standard dress of heaven. Yet actually he wasn’t sure this was clothing at all. It seemed at first like white robes, dazzlingly bright yet not hurtful to his eyes. But each person’s appearance was distinctly different from the other. The similarity spoke of their shared purity and common Lord, and the differences of their unique personalities and gifts and histories. But the clothing, if that’s what it was, seemed more an organic growth from the body than separate apparel. Rather than concealing, it seemed designed to reveal something which on earth would have been hidden within. When he looked at an individual, as he did dozens and dozens of them now, one after the other, he se
emed to see so much more than he’d ever seen before. On earth the outward appearance could deceive and often did. But here the outward appearance seemed to reflect and draw attention to the inner person, to his or her character. And somehow Finney caught hints and impressions of the person’s unique background and history.

  A chorus of welcomes sang out, some in languages he didn’t know, but all of which he instinctively understood. Each bid him come in, make himself at home. He felt like a miner rescued from a collapsed cavern and emerging to excited well-wishers in the land of the living. Except this was his first time here, and he wasn’t sure how things worked. But he knew he was going to have the time of his life finding out.

  At the fringes of the crowd stood a group of a dozen beings who seemed to be of the same race as the towering figure who left the hospital room with him. At the back of the crowd stood one being glowing with a soft light that did not blind, but attracted and captivated the eyes. He smiled at Finney, who trembled with joy at the immediate realization of who it was. To this moment he’d stood quietly, absorbing all this, delighting in it, smiling knowingly as if he were the one who’d arranged it. And, indeed, Finney knew he had done just that.

  This was the ageless one, the Ancient of Days, who is eternally young. He stepped forward, and at his first move the crowd quickly and reverently made way for him, as flimsy shacks make way for a hurricane. This was a good hurricane, but no one mistook goodness for weakness here. He who had spun the galaxies into being with a single snap of his finger, he who could uncreate all that existed with no more than a thought, extended his hand to Finney, as if the hand he extended was that of a plain ordinary carpenter. Everyone knew he was anything but ordinary. His riveting eyes commanded their full attention. All eyes were fixed on those eyes. For the moment, it was impossible to look elsewhere, and no one in his right mind would have wanted to.