Then, one week later, it was Christmas. My brother asked if we could come up to Oklahoma City and spend the holiday with him, so we bundled up the kids and hit the road. We put all the wrapped Christmas presents in the back of the van beneath a blanket, so the twins wouldn’t see them and start asking us about Santa Claus. It was smooth driving for maybe five minutes before another one of those nasty Oklahoma storms rolled in. Freezing wind, sheets of ice and snow. Virgil could barely see five feet in front of him, so we couldn’t drive much faster than ten or fifteen miles per hour, and even that felt treacherous. We noticed huge snowdrifts building up alongside the highway, and we pulled over in a nearby town to figure out if we should keep going. But the bad weather was in front of us and behind us, so we had nowhere to escape to. We decided to keep moving forward as carefully as we could.
The two-hour trip wound up taking thirteen hours. The windshield wipers kept freezing and getting stuck, and Virgil had to hop out and fix them. We kept passing people who spun out or were stuck in a snowbank, and Virgil would stop and give them a push so they could get back on the road. We couldn’t see any highway signs because of the dense snow, so after a while we didn’t even know where we were. We were terrified a stretch of highway would be shut down, stranding us in the middle of nowhere, but, luckily, the roads stayed open. After a few hours the kids were starving, so I broke into the picnic basket of sausage and cheese and crackers I’d packed. A few hours later, when that was all gone, we ate the candies and chocolates out of our Christmas stockings.
At one point we got stuck ourselves, near a parking lot in Oklahoma City. Cars were stalled out everywhere, and other cars were skidding on ice and crashing into them. It took us two hours to dig our way out of the snow, but with the help of some other drivers, Virgil wedged boards under the tires and managed to move the van. Then we got stuck again just a few blocks from my brother’s house. I was so scared and so tired at that point that I just wanted to grab the four kids and start walking. Fortunately, three men appeared out of nowhere and helped Virgil dig out the van again. We eventually made it to my brother’s home in one piece.
It had been a really trying thirteen hours, and there were times when I was really afraid something bad was going to happen. But the fact is, we were all warm and cozy in the van, we had plenty of food, and the kids had a blast eating their Christmas chocolates. For much of those thirteen hours we actually had fun. The highways stayed open, we didn’t run out of gas, and we made it to my brother’s house safe and sound. Perhaps most striking of all, I got to see the very best of the human spirit at work. I watched Virgil selflessly get out of our warm van time and time again to help people dig their cars out of snow, and I watched total strangers come over and help us when we needed them most. I felt deeply moved by the incredible acts of kindness I had witnessed.
And when that realization struck me, I felt truly happy to be back here on Earth. Remember I described Oklahoma’s great plains and rugged mountains and beautiful wildlife and all its many gifts from God? Well, I forgot a big one—Oklahoma’s people. That dark night on the dangerous highway, I saw the hand of God at work again, this time in his human creations. And that touched my heart and stirred my soul and made me feel blessed once again to be here among His many wonderful gifts.
AFTER I GOT past being upset with everyone I felt had dragged me back from heaven, I realized all the grudges and grievances that had cluttered my soul for so long had disappeared. It was like God wiped the slate completely clean. And the big stuff—the resentments I’d lived with for so many years—just melted away. I’d been angry with someone who owed Virgil money—and I’m talking a lot of money, not just a few hundred bucks, but a life-changing amount. But afterward I told him, “I know we’re never getting that money back, and it’s okay. We have to pray for them.” Virgil looked at me funny, because he knew I didn’t part with money easily. He says that’s when he truly believed I’d been with God—when I was okay with writing off a debt. But that just showed the magnitude of the forgiveness God washed over me.
I don’t know. I just felt liberated from all the baggage I’d carried my whole life. I asked Virgil’s mother to forgive me for pushing her away. I asked Virgil to forgive me for making him choose between his family and me. I asked my brother to forgive me for not paying enough attention to him when we were young, and I asked my mother to forgive me for always making her the target of my anger. I even called my father in Illinois, and I asked him to forgive me, too.
“Oh no, you don’t need to apologize for anything,” he said.
“But I do,” I told him. “I need you to forgive me for being so hard on you.”
I also stopped being so attached to my possessions. I’d always been very sentimental about objects that meant something to me, but after I died I no longer cared much about material things. I told my friends, “If you ever liked anything in my house, this’d be a good time to ask for it, because I’m ready to give it all away.” Honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if we did give everything away and moved into a one-room shack. After I died I came to realize that my fortune was my family and friends and the love of God, and the rest didn’t matter all that much.
I found I loved and cared about everyone. People I’d been furious at—like JP’s dad and Sabyre’s dad—I suddenly felt deep love and compassion for. I was filled with sorrow and pity for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt me, and I prayed for them because they were God’s perfect creations. I knew that just as that happy little girl in the light had been hurt badly in her lifetime, so, too, had those who had hurt me. They, too, were once innocent children, and that’s how God still saw them—as children He loved no matter what. Knowing what I knew, I didn’t want a single person in the world, not even my worst enemy, to stand outside God’s radiance—I wanted everyone to be there with me in the glory of His greatness. I’d held my share of grievances, and I’d been a judgmental person. On occasion after I died I’d catch myself judging someone again, but I’d quickly tell myself, No, Crystal. Remember what He did for you. And the judgment would just go away.
My disappointment at leaving God’s side eventually lessened, but this elation and joy I felt at having been in His presence never did—it only got stronger. Nothing bothered me or made me angry anymore, and I overflowed with compassion and love. I had been powerfully transformed by those nine minutes, and in every way that mattered I was a new creation.
After a lifetime of doubt I was a loving child of God, and nothing would ever be the same again.
I REALIZE NOW that I began telling my story just a second or two after I returned. “I am in the most beautiful light,” I had told the nurse, and then I told the same thing to my mother. My mom says no sooner had I come back from heaven than I told the doctor who revived me I had been with God, and she remembers the doctor hearing those words and beginning to cry. He was a man of faith and believed I had been to heaven, so he wept with joy.
I was drugged up pretty heavily the next few days, but once I felt better I found I couldn’t wait to talk about what happened. I wanted to tell everyone where I’d been and what I’d seen. Naturally, I told Virgil the whole story, and he was moved to tears. I told my mother, and I told every doctor and nurse who wandered anywhere near my room. Finally, when they moved me out of the ICU and into a regular room, I got the chance to tell someone who was not a relative or a doctor or nurse.
I was alone one evening when an elderly cleaning woman walked into my room. She was mopping the floor and humming some old gospel song. I was still in a lot of pain, but I turned my neck as much as I could to look at her and cleared my throat.
“Do you believe in God?” I asked her.
“Oh yes, honey,” the cleaning woman said.
“I just died and saw God,” I said. “I was in His presence.”
The woman kept mopping and said, “Yes, child, praise to God.”
I was surprised by how nonchalant she was, and I asked her if she believed me.
“
Oh yes, child, I believe. Oh yes, I believe.”
And then she went right back to mopping and humming her song.
It wasn’t that she didn’t feel my time in heaven was a miracle. It’s just that she had believed in God’s greatness for most of her life, and I’d only been sure of it for a handful of days. Her faith was so great, she wasn’t the least bit surprised by what God had done for me. And I found that to be incredible. My spirit was lifted by the strength of her belief, and I couldn’t wait to tell more people about what had happened to me.
EIGHT DAYS AFTER I died I was finally released from the hospital. Although my pancreatitis was gone, my body was still really sore. I felt like I had a whole rack of cracked ribs. Just to dull the pain, I had to hold a pillow against my stomach any time I coughed or laughed.
A couple of days after I came home I got a call from a bill collector. I interrupted him in the middle of him telling me about my overdue account.
“Do you believe in God?” I asked.
“Um, yes,” he said.
I launched into my story of dying and going to heaven and standing with God. When I was done, there was a long pause before he spoke again.
“So,” he said, “can we expect your payment this week?”
Everywhere I went, I looked for opportunities to tell my story. One time, Virgil and I were in a meeting with four or five other Christians we knew. I had already told someone there my story, and they asked me to share it with the group. I’ve never been comfortable speaking in public, but there weren’t that many people at the meeting. So I took a deep breath and got right to it. When I was done, I expected someone to ask me for more details about my time with God. I assumed they’d want to know everything. But not a single person in the room asked me a question. There was just silence and a few thank-yous, and then we moved on to another topic. And in that moment a terrible thought popped into my head: They think I’m lying! Or they think I’m crazy!
For the first time, I felt stupid for telling my story. It had never occurred to me that anyone wouldn’t believe what I was saying, and I’d assumed everyone would be as excited about it as I was. But the people in that meeting either didn’t believe me or didn’t care. That was a shocking realization. My face turned beet red, and I sat there feeling utterly embarrassed and mortified. I wanted to jump up and say, “You’re all missing the point. Don’t you know why we’re here?” I could feel myself withdrawing deeper and deeper into my shell.
Still, I couldn’t contain my urge to share what happened with the world, so I picked my times and I kept telling my story. I truly wanted to express the passion I was feeling for God. But more often than not, the reaction I got was not what I expected. Sure, some people seemed genuinely moved, but others just kind of listened and smiled and moved on with their lives. I got another chance to share my story with a small group, which included one person who’d heard me tell it before. When I finished, this person looked at me and said, “Gosh, you talk about that a lot.” I was stunned. It wasn’t like I was telling them how I’d met a celebrity or the president. I was talking about being with God! Why weren’t these people as moved and overjoyed as I was? What was I doing wrong?
The last straw came about three weeks after my release from the hospital. I was with a group of people in an informal setting, and the discussion turned to God. I started telling someone what I had experienced and how wonderful it had been to be with God. Nearby I noticed a woman roll her eyes—you know, that look that says, “Oh no, here she goes again.” I immediately stopped talking and left the room. I felt stupid and embarrassed, and worst of all I felt like no one believed me. I decided then and there I wouldn’t tell another soul about what happened. I was going to go back to teaching soon, and the last thing I needed was for the town to start buzzing about how crazy I was. I just shut down.
It was that moment when I became totally human again.
For the next few months I cried at night, because I missed God so much and because I could no longer share my story. “Tell them what you can remember,” God had said, but when I tried to do that I just wound up looking and feeling foolish. I still didn’t have the answer to the one burning question I had left: Why did God send me back? If He wanted me to tell everyone about His glory, why was He making it so no one believed me? I still had the strong desire to talk about Him nonstop, but I also felt that everywhere I turned, doors were shutting on me. I didn’t know what to do anymore.
But during this trying time there was one person who listened to my story. Every night Virgil would turn to me in bed and say, “Tell me about it again. Tell me everything that happened again.” Not once in a while—every single night. And so I’d face Virgil and wipe away my tears, and I’d say, “Well, I closed my eyes and went to sleep, and then I remember waking up in heaven.” Virgil would hang on my every word, and together we would praise God.
And Virgil might have been the last person to ever hear my story, if something remarkable hadn’t happened a few months later in, of all places, our kitchen.
IT’S KIND OF IRONIC I WAS SO UPSET BY PEOPLE NOT believing me. I mean, I was the world’s biggest skeptic until all this happened. If someone had come up to me a few years ago and told me they died and went to heaven, I’m pretty sure I would have smiled politely and walked away thinking they were nuts. The truth is, if someone came up to me today and told me they had stood with God, I can’t say I would automatically believe them. I understand that a story like this isn’t the easiest thing to swallow. Not everyone can feel as certain about God’s great power as that wonderful cleaning woman.
The reaction I got to my story—and that one eye roll in particular—made me step back and think harder about what had happened. I certainly didn’t think I was crazy, but the fact that some people did caused a little doubt to creep into my mind. Was I remembering things correctly? Was it possible my brain had played a trick on me? There are all kinds of theories about why people report having visions—or what doctors call episodic experiences—when they hover close to death. When a person stops breathing, they can have tunnel vision, which could explain the tunnel so many people see. When your heart stops beating, you can see bright lights, which some people say is a medical phenomenon, not a spiritual one. And when your brain loses oxygen, it can start firing neurons that haven’t been fired in years or even decades, which can trigger memories of long-ago people and experiences. Hard-core skeptics can find a way to dismiss any story about heaven as nothing more than a medical hiccup.
Then again, all those experts are basing their opinions on medical books, not firsthand knowledge. How can they say something is real or not real if they’ve never experienced it themselves? And how do you explain the presence of God in these “episodic experiences”? It’s one thing to see a relative who has passed on, but what kind of neuron produces the powerful radiance I immediately recognized as God? How do you explain the feeling of absolutely bursting with God’s love? In the months after it happened, I spent countless hours sitting and thinking about those fateful nine minutes. I needed to be sure about what, exactly, had happened to me.
One of the first things I realized is that I forgot a lot more about the experience than I remembered. I’ve described the very clear feeling I had that there were open channels between me and my angels and God, and that we were able to pass unlimited and instant information back and forth. Most important, those channels allowed me to fully understand the perfection of God’s plan. God allowed me to see the absolute truth about everything that matters in life. Before I could even ask the questions, God gave me all the answers.
But then, when I returned to my human form, I no longer had those answers. I still understood that God’s plan is perfect, but I didn’t know what that plan was or why it was perfect. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember what had passed between my angels and me, though I knew we exchanged mountains of insight in a constant, free-flowing, wordless, beautiful conversation. It was like that dream I had about God’s plan, the one t
hat prompted me to wake Virgil so I could describe it to him. The next morning, I’d forgotten all the key details, though my memory of the dream itself was still very powerful. That is what my time in heaven felt like—I could easily summon the overall miracle and majesty of it, but I couldn’t recall a lot of what filled me with such joy when I was there.
Perhaps we’re not meant to have that kind of infinite understanding here on Earth. If we were, we wouldn’t need to have faith, because we’d be so sure about everything. There’s a reason we can’t have that knowledge now, and God knows that reason. All we can do is have faith in God and in His plan for us. The incredible gift God gave me is the certainty that His plan is perfect.
What I do recall most clearly is God’s final directive to me: “Tell them what you can remember.” He didn’t say to tell them what happened; He said to tell them what I could remember. Maybe it’s just beyond human ability to describe or even understand the full glory of heaven with the tools we have on Earth. “ ‘What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived’—the things God has prepared for those who love him,” it says in 1 Corinthians 2:9. But God knows that remembering even a small fraction of what He showed me was more than powerful enough to completely change my life. It’s like how even a tiny glimpse of God’s love filled me up so much I just about burst. Maybe we can’t handle more than a sliver of God’s reality. But since His plan is perfect, I know a sliver is all we need.
Waking Up in Heaven: A True Story of Brokenness, Heaven, and Life Again Page 17
