TO HELL AND BACK

The first thing I was conscious of was the heat, the overwhelming agony of burning flesh. I could feel the flames licking at my skin, devouring it. I screamed, but there was no sound.

I remember fighting to move, struggling to get away from the pain, the flames. I thrashed about, but could find no purchase for my limbs. An eternity of pain later, I became aware of others around me, screaming, struggling. The horror of it overwhelmed me.

And I awoke.


I sat up in bed, covered in sweat, panting, shaking, trying not to wake my wife, trying to forget the horror of my dream.

Or was it a dream?

For weeks, I had had this persistent nightmare. It had come to the point where I was afraid to sleep for fear of the nightmares recurring.

They had been increasing in frequency over the past several months, from once or twice a week, to the present frequency of multiple times a night. I could hardly close my eyes without feeling the agony of the flames licking my flesh, the helplessness, the overwhelming despair.

I quietly crept out of bed, trying not to wake my wife, and pulled on a pair of sweats against the chill. I moved through the darkness to the living room, where I paced, pondering the meaning of this maddening, repetitious phenomenon that plagued me.

I reflected on the day, months ago, when the dreams had begun.

The day had started badly. I woke up late, couldn't find my car keys, yelled at my wife, and had trouble starting the car.

Running late, I tried to make up time on the road, speeding, cutting corners. I was about five blocks from work, feeling smug that I would make it on time to my 9:00 meeting, when it happened.

I was taking the exit off the freeway, coming around the cloverleaf, at about 60 mph. I saw the truck, lights flashing, stopped in the lane, just a moment too late to stop in time.

The next instant was a confused jumble of impressions. I remember slamming on the brakes, the squeal of my tires and the smell of burning rubber, the screech and groan of metal as my car impacted the semi. So much noise! I'll always remember the incredible, overpowering sound of the crash. Glass sprayed in my hair, and I was thrown forward into the steering wheel.

The next thing I remember was the long, cool tunnel I was propelled along, with a bright light at the end. I came to a large white room - everything in it was white - with marble floors and a great throne at the far end. The room was featureless, save for the two large lions on either side of the throne, and the blinding white light emanating from the seat of the throne itself, which illuminated the entire room.

"Justin Bartholomew Clarence, approach."

The voice was nowhere, yet everywhere, surrounding me, within me. It was loud and stern, but not harsh. I tentatively approached the throne.

"Justin Bartholomew Clarence, by what right do you claim eternal life?"

"I've tried to be good," I stammered. "I don't smoke. I've never killed anyone!" I chuckled nervously, wiped my sweaty palms on the long white robe I found myself wearing, and continued.

"Uh, well, I went to church as a kid, and I still go with my wife and children at least once a month! I give money to the church and charities. I've always believed in God. I have never really cheated on my wife."

"Justin Bartholomew Clarence, these are the deeds of your life."

A white-robed person - a man? woman? - appeared from the left. He (she?) began reading at my birth, chronicling each milestone, each pitfall, each happy, sad, angry action in my life. As he said each item, I saw myself as I was then, as if on a stage in front of me.

"On March 3, 1959, you were born."

I saw my birth in the hospital room, the doctor saying, "It's a boy!" my mother's tears. I saw my father as he was told in the waiting room, the joy on his face. They looked so young...

"On December 31, 1959, you took your first step..."

I saw a chubby baby walking to my mother in the living room, arms outstretched, my father sitting in the Barkalounger, watching every move I made.

I don't know how long it took, but my every action and emotion was chronicled. It ended with:

"On February 28, 1996, you woke late, drove fast, and ran the car into the back of a semi truck. You were angry with your wife for not waking you sooner, angry with your children for hiding your car keys, and angry with your boss for scheduling an early meeting. The last thought you had before the impact was "I wonder if I take my secretary out for drinks if she'll invite me up to her apartment? What a body she has!' "

The book was closed, and the person who had read from it walked away. My head hung in shame. Every nasty thought that had ever crossed my mind seemed to hang in the air around me, mocking me. Every deceitful action, every lustful act. I saw how shameful and petty my life had been.

The deep voice spoke again. "Bring forth the Book of Life. Is the name Justin Bartholomew Clarence written in the book?"

This pronouncement struck terror in my heart. Without quite knowing why, I fell to my knees, as if to beg.

"S-sir?" I stammered. "W-what book is this? I-I believe in God!" My voice was small and weak; no one seemed to take heed of it.

Another being strode forward, carrying a much larger book than the previous, and bowed before the huge throne.

"Oh, most Holy One," began the being in white, addressing the throne, "this is what the Book of Life says about Justin Bartholomew Clarence." The being began to read from the pages of the large book, and, as before, the words blended with the pictures before my eyes.

I saw the many times as a child, and while in Sunday school class, and later seated between my parents during the sermon, when I heard the plan of Salvation, yet did not respond. I saw the time as a young teen at a large crusade where I sat in the back with friends, watching others make commitments to Christ, and silently jeering at them for being so gullible. I saw my parents looking on proudly as I mouthed the words of my confirmation, while not knowing in my heart that they were anything more than words.

Finally, I saw the many, many times I had taken communion and dropped money into the offering plate, all the while thinking in my heart of hearts that religion was a nice crutch for those who couldn't handle life on their own, and it even taught nice values to my children, but I was strong enough to handle life on my own.

The final scene left me breathless as I saw and heard myself tell a friend, just the previous week, that Jesus was a good teacher, but I didn't really believe in Heaven or Hell. After all, I reasoned, how could a loving God send millions of people to hell for eternity?

The scenes of my life came to an end. I was left shaken and weak, realizing what a fool I'd been.

"Oh, Lord Jesus! I was wrong! Save me! I give my life to You!" I was sobbing, huddled on the wide expanse of the marble throne room.

A kind, gentle man came forward. He looked about my age, with a short beard and moustache, longish curly brown hair, very gentle eyes. He held out a hand and raised me to my feet.

"Oh, Justin, if only you'd called to Me while you lived. I asked you many times if I could help you over the 37 years of your life, but you said 'no.' "

The Man had tears in His eyes as He continued "It's too late now. I'm so sorry."

I suddenly found myself in a dark place.

The first thing that I was aware of was the heat. The overwhelming agony of burnt flesh.

I screamed...


And found myself in an ambulance, EMTs working frantically over me.

"It was a dream..." I managed to croak out, through blood-caked lips.

"No, sir, you really hit that truck hard." the EMT said, checking my pulse. "You're in shock. Rest quietly, we're taking you to the Trauma center. You gave us quite a scare, mister. We thought we'd lost you."

I remember little of the following day or two, but finally found myself at home, with plenty of bruises, aches, pains, a pretty good concussion, and a deep gash above my right eye that took over 10 stitches.

The doctors called me a walking miracle.

I knew I'd been to hell and back, but I'd been given another chance.

Why?

Or was it all just a vivid dream, a hallucination brought on by the concussion?

The day following my return home, the nightmares started. After two weeks, I was well enough to go to work, but I was kept awake more often than not with the nightmares. Sometimes I saw the whole scenario, from my entrance into the white throne room through eons of agony in the fire, other times the dream began abruptly in the fiery pit of despair. The dream that woke me tonight, however, was the most vivid of them all. I could still feel my limbs tingling from their brush with the flames, still smell the scent of sulfur, burnt flesh, singed hair.

I resumed my pacing back and forth across the living room.

I dimly heard my wife's alarm clock ring upstairs, and the small noises she makes when she gets up in the morning.

Just as the sun rose, I fell to my knees.

"God! Oh, God, if you're really there, what do I do? How do I accept you?"

The sweet voice of an angel spoke; it was my wife, who had come downstairs and was sitting next to me.

"Justin, you know what to do. Admit to God that you're a sinner."

"Oh, I am. God, Jesus, I'm so sorry. I'm so awful! How could You ever send me any place but hell? I'm a grotesque sinner...I've lusted after other women, I've been deceitful at work, I've yelled at my wife and kids, I've cheated the IRS...I've been full of hate and contempt for my neighbors because of petty things they've said or done, or for no reason except the way they speak or the color of their skin. Lord Jesus, I know You loved all people equally, but how could You love someone like me?" I sobbed into my hands.

"Justin, we all have sinned. But Jesus died on the cross to save us from our sins."

"But I've been so awful!!"

"Do you believe that His death was sufficient to cleanse every sin?"

"Yes, but..."

"No 'buts,' Justin. Either His death was enough, or it wasn't. Do you accept His gift of salvation, or reject it?"

"I..."

"Remember, Justin, acceptance of His gift of salvation is also accepting His leadership of your life." My wife's voice was soft, gentle, yet rang with sincerity and conviction.

"Yes! Yes, Jesus, I take Your gift! I ask for Your forgiveness, I ask for Your leadership!" The heavy burden, the fear of eternity in hell, lifted from my heart. My sobs calmed, and I turned to my sweet wife.

"I...I did it! I feel better!" She smiled at me through her own tears.

"Yes, Justin, I always knew you would. I've been praying for this for a long time."

That entire day I felt a new lightness in my heart. Several coworkers commented on my demeanor, saying I must finally be feeling better after the car accident. I told them that no, I'd finally found what I'd been looking for all my life.

That night, my wife and I prayed together, and settled down to sleep. I closed my eyes, and immediately fell asleep. To my surprise, the dream began again.

I dreamt the same dream, the white throne room, the two large books, every deed of my life appearing before me. Only this time, the scene of my prayer in the living room that morning was added to the end.

This time, when the gentle man came forward to lift me to my feet, we both had tears in our eyes, but they were tears of joy.

"Father," the Man said, His voice ringing with authority, "This man has accepted the gift of My forgiveness. I have paid the debt for his sins. He can stay here with Us forever!" His voice rang with joy.

This time, when I awoke, I was at peace, not fearful. I now know what to expect when I die, and it's not scary at all.