My daughters and a handful of friends have been raving about the book, “Heaven is for Real” by Todd Burpo. Without giving the entire story line away, it’s a three year old’s account of three minutes in Heaven. Remembering Matt Lauer’s interview of the Burpo Family in March of this year added to the intrigue, so I brought it to the beach this week. In complete transparency, there were four small theological points in the book that gave me pause. I’ve written those down and will research scripture later – I may be “off” in my thinking, but want to go straight to the Word to find out. Even with my “gut checks” there is more than enough information that, if accurately recorded, points to a child’s amazing opportunity to gain contemporary heavenly insight. The Burpo’s faith and the faith of many in their small town seem to have gotten a huge boost – understandably so.After turning the final page of “Heaven is for Real” – my mind took me on a journey back to the accident which almost took my life just before turning 15. Nowadays, I don’t often think of that day and the months/years of medical procedures and corresponding recovery. However, certain anniversaries, metal detectors and random physical aches that come out of nowhere will on occasion, remind me. (http://tawnda.blogspot.com/2010/06/broken-bones-scars-and-ugly-blue-pintos.html)
In the days that followed my accident, I shared with my parents what I perceived as my own “out of body” or “near death” experience. It sounds strange to say, and it's even more peculiar to put in writing. I can still clearly see myself in an emergency room, laying on a gurney and being worked on by a team of medical professionals. I don’t recall what they said – or exactly what they were doing, but the image of hurried attention is burned in my mind. The next thing I remember is “KNOWING” that I was expected to die (but never being told.) Following that was a short stream of people coming to my side, crying and while I don’t recall specific words, they were saying goodbye. If memory is accurate, it was during this time that my Dad never left my side; specifically he stood at or behind my head. In the midst of the “visits” from immediate family, friends and my Uncle Jerry – Dad never stopped being “my dad.” He pulled the white sheet up higher on my neck – if he could’ve, I’m sure he would have quickly fashioned a turtleneck for me out of another sheet. He was always uber conservative minded when it came to how his oldest daughter should dress. (Not that there was an actual issue at that time of my life!) At 15 – I was extremely conservative-minded and ultra-modest, and overall rather geeky. Nothing in me wanted to test fashion boundaries until at least a year and a half later.
In the account above, the same one shared with my parents 28 years ago – I never saw a “white light”. With vivid recall, I can still “see” myself from up above – positioned in the left, far corner of the room facing the entrance. However, there is nothing in my mind that even vaguely suggests the presence of God, Jesus, Angels, or family members who had gone before me. Sometimes I hear those stories and it just further perplexes me. Maybe at the time there was some other “being” present and I didn’t hold on to that. Then again, who really knows what happens during those times our bodies are on the cusp of leaving this world? I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was my experience.
In the past, I’ve shared this information with only a select few. Often, if you share something of a supernatural nature, people will just look at you like you’ve been smoking crack. Of course, there are those who attempt to “explain” it away – making MY very real experience conform to a small box they are comfortable with. My dad neither validated nor discounted my recollection, but did affirm the events, the setup/appearance of the room, staff, equipment, etc. My mother was quick to point out that I must have been consciously paying attention to my surroundings via a light fixture positioned above me. When I vehemently disputed that theory, blame was placed on the drugs administered in the days that followed. NOTE: No drugs were given to me in the ER due to the nature and suspected severity of internal/head injuries. Even in the days that followed – I was taken to surgical rooms for procedures on my face and head – minus anesthesia. (Gradually, I was able to have shots around my eyes, nose and mouth – a light “local”. Those shots were likely worse than the pain they were intended to mask.)
My thoughts this morning also took me to my grandmother’s hospital room last September. Fortunately, I had received a call from a cousin alerting me to the severity of her health; otherwise I’d not have known her condition was so grim. Bill and I were able to make the drive to Copper Hill, TN to see Nannie one final time. The sight of her was amazing to behold. It was hard not to cry when seeing my 5’10” quick-witted, sharp-as-a-tack grandmother lying so frail – weakened physically and mentally. She literally looked like a smaller, weakened version of herself. On the most recent visit, a few months beforehand – her once bright mind was clearly not that anymore. She still had moments of clarity and a sense of humor. Physically, you’d never know anything was wrong with her. The September visit proved shocking.
Nannie was so frail that it was difficult for her to get liquid from a straw held to her mouth. As I sat facing her on the bed – she kept looking over my shoulder, smiling. Sometimes her tiny body would even come up off the bed and her outstretched arms would reach toward “something” over my shoulder. In these moments she sometimes seemed to have a childlike, anticipatory expression. She was smiling widely with excitement and uttering words I couldn’t really understand. As we hugged her for the last time, and made our way back home – I couldn’t stop thinking about and wondering what or who it was she was “seeing” with such excitement. Whatever the case, her apparent delight was and is a comfort.
So, these events are great mysteries to me, falling under the heading: “things we’ll not understand as long as we are living.” Too many others – Christian and otherwise, have shared similar stories to the ones above. I’ve asked a Christian doctor his perspective and he concurs that there is “something” and he has seen it many times when a patient’s life is approaching an end. With his medical education, and decades of serving in ministry and in the medical profession - he doesn’t have the answers. I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that this “phenomenon” continues to perplex me as well.
In closing, the image of my Dad standing by me in what was to have been my final hour is now a strange gift. In the midst of emotional chaos, he was still protective of my dignity. I knew then and know now that he loved me, his daughter, as a dad should. Unusual circumstances today mean that I’m not able to often see or hear from him. These odd but real memories are now reassuring to my “daughter’s heart.” Perhaps, if nothing greater – this unexplainable experience serves today as a sweet reminder; confirmation God knew in advance, would mean the world to me now.
