I knew I was dead, but I wasn’t upset about that. I just felt shame that I didn’t have more to show for the life I had left behind.
This was different from any dream I’ve ever had. It felt more real than anything from waking life. At times, it was more beautiful and loving than anything I’ve experienced on this Earth. At other times, it was painful and I felt shame.
But I was asleep — and I’m not dead — so it had to be a dream.
This was the second time lately that I’ve dreamed about my death. The first time, I just dreamed that I had died. I saw my body as though I was a spirit who had left it. But the second time — this past Saturday night — was much more than that. It was a dream about meeting God and talking about the life I had left behind.
I was in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, but I can’t describe it. The scene was dominated, though, by an intense light that was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It was brighter than any light I’ve experienced, but it didn’t hurt my eyes to look at it.
From that light, I felt what 19th century minister Charles Finney called “waves and waves of liquid love.” I felt small. I felt ashamed of my inadequacy. But I knew that this Creator of all the universe loved me unconditionally. I knew that this place was my home.

For an American church, the Fourth of July should be just another day
Night of panic and little sleep shows chaos of finding my way
There are three kinds of lonely — and I don’t know which this is
To think clearly, turn off the tube: Your television is not your friend
Intolerance isn’t just an American thing; it’s common to all humans
I don’t allow comments anymore, and I’d like to briefly explain why
THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Thomas, the aloof loner of my menagerie
UPDATE: No, I really haven’t died; I’ve just lost my sense of purpose
Sudden realization of hunger for taste of kindred soul is killing me