Tag: heaven

The Other Side of the Wardrobe

Justin Hibbard3 Comments

A few weeks ago, my devastated and ailing grandmother left her home for the first time in over a year to attend her son’s graveside funeral.  He was my Uncle Roger, swept away rather suddenly from this earth at too young an age.  Having bought a number of cemetery plots, my grandmother recognized that the very place where she sat to mourn my uncle was the place reserved for her.  It was a plot between her late husband (who had been gone for nearly forty years) and her other son (my Uncle Bobby) who died suddenly five years before.

Less than a week later, my grandmother took her final breath, and one week later, she was laid to rest on that very spot in the earth.

The image of that cemetery the day we buried my grandmother will forever be engrained in my mind:  seeing my grandmother’s casket next to her only two sons, the fresh soil over my Uncle Roger’s grave, the thought of two funerals in the span of a week for a little family named Slaton.  It was too much death to bear at once.

I came home that weekend from saying goodbye to two family members, and a couple of days later, I stood in the hospital alongside many friends, saying goodbye to a good friend named Terry Suttles.  A dear saint who made the matters of heaven a priority in her life, she took residence in her heavenly home about a week ago.

If I had to sum up 2014 for you, it would sound like a eulogy – a year where too many people (both little ones and older ones) have passed away.

Some months ago, I sat in the living room of a couple who had just experienced the devastation of a miscarriage.  Having lost our fourth child in-utero three years ago, ministering to those who have also suffered a miscarriage has become a familiar ministry for myself and my wife Karlene.  I offered to pray with this couple, and when I closed my eyes, I got this incredible yet brief vision.

There in a beautiful meadow, I saw our children standing together.  This was the second vision I had of our daughter Hope, and she looked the same as the first vision I saw of her – a perfect little girl, appearing to be no more than nine-years-old, long, straight dark hair, and stoic yet lively eyes.  It’s hard to explain, but when I think about her face, it looks like the face of a child but with the wisdom and knowledge of someone who has lived a long, long time.

“I got this glimpse of our children playing together,” I told this couple.  “I can only imagine what heaven will be like – this amazing reunion with our lost children who have been living for eternity.”

Eternity is an impossible concept to grasp.  We often think of this life ending and eternal life beginning, but I like something that Dr. Bill Smith said, “Eternity is not something screwed on to the end of this life; it’s entering into a world with no time.”  In fact, Jesus didn’t say, “Eternal life begins when you die.”  No, He said, “This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent” (John 17:3).

I’ve begun to think of eternity by comparing it with a familiar story – The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  The story begins with four children fleeing to the English countryside when Nazi Germany bombs their hometown of London.  Their world is suddenly turned upside down – no family, no friends, no familiar landscapes.  Yet in that foreign land, in a professor’s estate that they temporarily made as their home, they discovered a wardrobe – a magical portal to a land called Narnia.

No matter how much time they spent in Narnia, no time passed on earth.  They became part of a an epic, they learned to fight, they defeated the White Witch, and they became kings and queens.  So much happened in their adventure that they forgot about their lives in the English countryside back on earth.   As they pushed their way through the fir trees at a vaguely familiar place, they found themselves back in a wardrobe full of fur coats.  In a moment, they transformed from young adults back to little children.  Years of adventure had taken place in Narnia, but on the other side of the wardrobe, not a minute had passed.

While the story ends there, I often wonder what their lives would have been like.  They may have appeared to be four little children, but the reality that they shared was a lifetime of adventures on the other side of the wardrobe.

In those visions, when I stare into the eyes of a little girl I never got to know here on earth, I realize that the Kingdom of God is now.  It may not have taken over this earth yet, but it doesn’t mean it’s something only relegated to the future.  When I think about July 9, 2011, and what I was doing here on earth, I think about holding a tiny lifeless human being.  I think about the tears and the overwhelming pain.  I think about the loss, and the grief, and wondering if the heartache would ever go away.  But when I stare at her across the wardrobe, I see a little girl who seems to have lived for an eternity.

When I think about those who have passed away, I think particularly about those who fought long, hard battles with illnesses, and I imagine them slowly stepping through the wardrobe.  Individuals like my grandmother and Terry both lived with a mission of caring for others.  I think their resolve to care for others added many days to their lives.  But I also think that the closer they got to heaven, the more they stepped through the wardrobe and experienced Narnia, the more the fears of leaving this earth subsided.  Death can invoke great fear and uncertainty, particularly of leaving behind our loved ones and our responsibilities.  I think heaven has a way of putting those fears to rest.

I imagine that the brave new world of heaven doesn’t seem like an unfamiliar landscape when we first enter it.  I tend to believe that we’ll feel more at home than in the world we called home.  Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “You have written eternity on our hearts.”  St. Augustine prayed, “God, you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in you.”  John Eldredge comments that when we find God, we actually find our hearts.  We feel more like ourselves.  Why wouldn’t heaven carry the same familiarity that we find when we find God?

The truth is that eternity is now, and when we experience God, we experience a heightened sense of reality.  Something you’re doing now is affecting a world without time and space – a world that you will not only experience one day but are actually more familiar with than you realize.  One extraordinary aspect about Jesus was that He had an eternal perspective in this temporal world.  It was as though He could see both sides of the wardrobe simultaneously in a way that we cannot.  In Luke 10, when the disciples reported to Jesus that even the demons had submitted to them in His Name, Jesus replied, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven” (Luke 10:18).  He could see that one side of the wardrobe was affecting the other.

For us standing on this side, we have loss, grief, and incredible wounds.  But right now, beyond a doorway we can neither see nor touch, there is a world filled with the laughter we once heard or never got the chance to hear.  On this side, we see a world where life begins and ends.  On the other side, there is a world where adventures go on and on while not an earthly minute passes.  We think of death as Satan’s greatest triumph.  In reality, Jesus has redeemed death, fashioning it into a wardrobe – an avenue through which we enter the greatest part of life.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalm 73:26).

Seeing Hope

Justin Hibbard

Two years ago this very day, my wife gave birth to a baby who had died in utero. The baby, who we named Hope, was only fourteen weeks. The doctors and nurses cleaned her up and allowed us to spend some time with her, saying our goodbyes. We cried and prayed over her. And though we had left the hospital on three other occasions carrying a newborn, this time we left empty-handed and empty-hearted.

The next year was particularly difficult for my wife Karlene. She asked many tough questions to which I didn’t have any answers. I wanted to solve her hurt, but nothing I could say or do could bring about relief. Indeed I had questions of my own that I buried deep down in the depths of my soul.

Ten months after the miscarriage, I made a trek to Colorado for a retreat at John Eldridge’s “Wild at Heart” men’s ministry. While there, I spent a lot of alone time praying and asking God to open my heart and heal the wounds of my past. In dramatic fashion, the Lord gave me stunning visions of His glory and spoke to my hurts and insecurities.

On one afternoon, while I was deep in prayer and meditation on the hillside nestled in the Rocky Mountains, the Lord gave me a vision. It is a vision I have only shared with my wife up until this point. In this vision, I was standing at the top of a waterfall looking down. Jesus was gently whispering, “Run strong, Justin.” I knew I was meant to jump, but I didn’t have the courage. Suddenly, Jesus ran up from behind me and grabbed me around the chest and jumped off the ledge with me. Instead of falling to the depths of the water, we soared like an eagle while He held me tightly.

Down the windy river we flew until we ended up gently stopping on a river bank some distance from the waterfall. Surrounding me was a lush, green country hillside. Beside me, a calm blue stream flowed ever so slowly. Where I stood, the river had narrowed to a mere small stream only a few feet wide. With a small leap, I could have easily crossed it.

Suddenly, Jesus was standing on the other side of the river from me. I looked at Him, and then I looked at His side. There standing beside Him on His left, holding His hand, stood a little girl. She was a young child – maybe eight or nine. She had long straight, dark hair with strands that blew gently in the breeze. Her face was soft, beautiful, and innocent.

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew it was her. It was my Hope. Even 14 months later, I can still picture her – that moment I saw her standing with Jesus.

In my vision, tears welled up in my eyes. I wanted to hold her; I wanted to ask Jesus all sorts of questions. I couldn’t muster the words. It was as if seeing them brought this amazing sense of peace, in spite of all the unanswered questions and the deep pain. Then, as if her and Jesus’ voice mended together, they said, “I’m waiting for you. Run strong.” Jesus turned, and without any instruction, Hope turned and followed Him.” The two moved together so in-sync, it was as if Hope had been with Him for a lifetime.

As Jesus and Hope faded away in the distance, I noticed that standing beside me was my wife and three children. My hands were around their shoulders. My wife was leaning against my chest – her arms wrapped around my torso. Behind us stood a tiny cottage house.

I slowly opened my eyes, wishing I could stay in this vision forever, hoping that I would never lose the memory of seeing my little girl.

It’s been two years now since we said our final goodbyes to Hope. It’s been over a year since the Lord gave me that vision of her. I struggle to share this very intimate vision publicly. I fear that people will pass this very real and significant experience off as nonsense. It’s a vision I still don’t totally understand. Perhaps one day the nuances will become something symbolically significant – I don’t know. Perhaps someone will explain to me what this vision means better than what I can understand myself.

In the past two years, we’ve been able to minister to those who have also suffered the painful loss of a child. I grieve for those who hurt so intensely. What I discovered that day in Colorado is that healing does not come with answers. Peace and healing came that day through a miraculous encounter with the Prince of Peace – the Great Shalom. Only He has the amazing ability to tame the troubled heart and make wild the lifeless one. In seeing Him, I was given a “peace that surpasses understanding.” It is a peace not dependent on having questions answered but through encountering a Savior and Friend who holds my heart deep within His.