I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven. Whether it was in the body or out of the body I do not know—God knows. And I know that this man—whether in the body or apart from the body I do not know, but God knows— was caught up to paradise. He heard inexpressible things, things that man is not permitted to tell (2 Cor 12:2-4).
After the accident that took Jake’s life, his older brother, Garrett, spent five days in Children’s Hospital recuperating from his injuries. He suffered multiple lacerations to his legs and a hairline fracture to his jaw. I fed him juices with a baby eyedropper because his jaw was so swollen he couldn’t get his mouth around a straw. Garrett was brave. Not once did he complain. He refused pain medication and I never saw him cry.
An Escort to Heaven
The doctor’s words ricocheted through my mind like pin balls in an arcade game:
"Unfortunately, Jake didn't make it."
I slammed the phone on the receiver in disbelief and collapsed on the counter.
By the time I got to the hospital, the sight of Garrett was a shock. The once fresh blood from the wounds on his face had already turned a crusty black. At first glance, it looked like all of his teeth had been knocked out from the impact. His jaw was so swollen that he couldn’t close his mouth. I tried to give him a drink, but the water just trickled down his chin.
I forced a smile and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Where did you get this stuffed bear? He sure is cute.”
“From the ambulance worker,” Garrett said with his eyes gleaming. Past his frozen face his eyes radiated awe.
Garrett’s favorite TV program was Rescue 911. Before the show would start, he would line up all of his electronic emergency vehicles on the carpet in front of the TV. His collection of fire trucks, police cars and ambulances were ready for action. I never imagined that he would be a victim in his own episode.
Suddenly the curtains swung open as the doctor entered the room.
After the obligatory introduction and handshake, he advised, “We’ve already done an x-ray of his jaw. Those results will be in later. Right now, we need to test for internal injuries.”
“What are you thinking at this point?”
“We aren’t sure yet, but the x-ray will tell us more. The procedure uses a contrast dye to give us a better picture of what is going on, however, since Garrett can’t swallow anything, we’ll need to insert a tube up his nose and down his throat to inject the dye for the x-ray. Would you like to stay in the room and hold his hand?”
I couldn’t even watch my own blood being drawn. “Of course,” I gulped, fighting back tears.
The rest of the day was a blur. Between all the phone calls and visitors I barely remember a thing—except that people cared a great deal about us. One call to the prayer line at church to my friend Melissa Thompson (whom I’m certain was guilty of gossip before God spared her soul) was all it took to spread the news and get the prayer chain going. Later that day, the doctor gave the first bit of good news. “Garrett has a hairline fracture to his jaw but the x-rays showed no internal injuries.”
Garrett’s inflamed jaw wouldn’t allow any facial movement but I could tell he was trying to smile. He didn’t want me to worry. Soon, he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, I dropped little squirts of juice into Garrett’s mouth with a baby eyedropper. His mouth was swollen open but that didn’t keep him from talking.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“Nothing,” I lied. The truth was that I didn’t have a clue how I was going to tell him about Jake.
“Why don’t you wait until Garrett asks about Jake?” my friends advised. That sounded like a good plan to me, but four days later, he still hadn’t brought up the subject.
With the funeral fast approaching, my fiancé was concerned. “Christy,” John began. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
I knew I couldn’t squelch the crisis any longer. With the confidence of an ant under an elephant’s foot, I told him that this was something I had to do.
Garrett’s face brightened as I entered his room. “Hi, Mommy. Look! Bruce brought me some more stuffed animals. And the Transformer I wanted, Optimus Prime.”
“That’s nice, Honey,” I said, trying to smile. I mustered all the courage I could, but sitting beside his bed, darkness slithered over my heart like the nightfall outside. “Garrett…” I stalled to take another breath.
“Yeah, Mommy?”
“What would you say…” I held my breath. My body was suddenly paralyzed. “It’s Jake... Jake didn’t make it.” Tears streamed down my face as I waited for his response.
“Mom, I already know.”
You already know? My jaw fell to my chest. “What do you mean, ‘You already know?’”
“After the accident, I got to go to heaven with Jake.” Garrett swooped Optimus Prime into the air. He made gun sounds as he beat up his invisible enemies, “Jake got to go in but God told me it wasn’t my time.”
Suddenly I was on the edge of my seat. “What was heaven like?” I asked in wonder.
“Mommy!” Garrett’s eyes squinted with apparent irritation. He set his Transformer down as a bewildered look spread across his face. “Mommy! I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?” I insisted.
“It’s a surprise.”
I paused just long enough for my next statement to sound like I gave it the appropriate consideration. “It’s okay if you tell me. God won’t mind. I’m your mother.”
“No, Mommy, I can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Cuz. God told me it’s a secret.”
Garrett sighed at my adult-like doubt. He went back to playing with his toys while I sat back in my chair flabbergasted.
He sure picked a good time to start keeping secrets. In the past he flunked confidentiality, but now his lips were locked.
In the days and weeks following his release from the hospital, I tried to squeeze more details out of Garrett. The only other shred of evidence came in the form of a question one evening during dinner.
“Mommy, did you know that there are more angels in heaven than there are people on earth?”
While he never uttered another clue, I began to notice his mantle of peace. Garrett spoke at Jake’s funeral in front of hundreds of attendees. I held the microphone while he shared his story about escorting Jake to heaven. His childlike trust amazed me, yet I fought skepticism. Did Garrett really take a trip to heaven or was his story a figment of his five-year old imagination?
Preschoolers can make up some enchanting stories. If it was make-believe, however, it worked for him. He didn’t grieve like the grief recovery books that well-meaning friends had given me predicted. He never had a nightmare about the accident. And even though his biological father received a deferred sentence for negligent homicide, Garrett held no bitterness towards his dad. Even so, I pried and pried to get him to open up about his trip to heaven.
Until I found the reason for his peculiar silence.
One day, I was reading my morning devotional and came across a story about a man who had been to heaven. He couldn’t describe what he saw because it was a secret. I was spellbound. In the book of 2 Corinthians, the apostle Paul says that he was caught up in the “third heaven” where he heard inexpressible things—things that man was not permitted to tell.
Paul experienced the same kind of secret quest that Garrett had witnessed.
I lingered over the verses for a moment. What Garrett saw, he wasn’t permitted to tell. That’s why Garrett never brought up Jake’s death in the hospital. He had a heavenly encounter. It wasn’t a fairy tale…it was a faith tale. I closed my Bible. As the pages fluttered together, my doubts finally vanished. Who was I to contend with a divine mystery? Awestruck, I realized that his journey with angels empowered him with peace in the midst of disaster. Never again will I doubt the faith of a child, nor heaven’s ability to provide peace in tragedy, especially to little children.
Today Garrett is seventeen and still speaks little of his trip to heaven, but his matter-of-fact countenance of trust has never left. I know God has a strong purpose for the deposit of peace he left with Garrett that day. As much as I long to understand more, one thing I know for sure—heaven is flowing with peace and joy, because Garrett came back with a lifetime supply.
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