The Christian Digest
Presents
Within the Gates -- Part II (#24)

Originally titled Intra Muros, by Rebecca Springer. Edited by Gordon Lindsay.
First published 1922, reprinted 1992 by Christ for the Nations.

         When we printed "Within the Gates," Christian Digest Number 14, we were not aware that we had an abridged version, and parts of the book were not included. Following are the missing parts, which include a few paragraphs in some cases and whole chapters in other cases. We hope you'll enjoy this further peek into Heaven and its beauties! On page 14 you'll find another near-death experience, and on page 16 there is a glossary for words marked with an asterisk in the text.

The River!
(Bathing in the river with her brother Frank:)
         I sat down in the midst of the many-colored pebbles and filled my hands with them, as a child would have done. My brother lay down upon them, as he would have done on the green sward*, and laughed and talked joyously with me.
         "Do this," he said, rubbing his hands over his face, and running his fingers through his dark hair.
         I did as he told me, and the sensation was delightful. I threw back my loose sleeves and rubbed my arms, then my throat, and again thrust my fingers through my long, loose hair, thinking at the time what a tangle it would be in when I left the water.
         "What marvelous water! What wonderful air!" I said to my brother, as we again stepped upon the flowery sward. "Are all the rivers here like this one?"
         "Not just the same, but similar," he replied.

Portrait of Jesus!
         (Rebecca's brother Frank shows her a lovely room on the second floor, her own special place for rest and study:)
         The entire apartment was beautiful beyond description; but I had seen it many times before I was fully able to comprehend its perfect completeness. Only one picture hung upon the walls, and that was a life-size portrait of the Christ, just opposite the couch. It was not an artist's conception of the human Christ, bowed under the weight of the sins of the world, nor yet the thorn-crowned head of the crucified Savior of mankind; but the likeness of the living Master, of Christ the victorious, of Christ the crowned. The wonderful eyes looked directly and tenderly into your own, and the lips seemed to pronounce the benediction* of peace. The ineffable* beauty of the divine face seemed to illumine the room with a holy light, and I fell upon my knees and pressed my lips to the sandalled feet so truthfully portrayed upon the canvas, while my heart cried, "Master, beloved Master and Savior!" It was long before I could fix my attention on anything else. My whole being was full of adoration and thanksgiving for the great love that had guided me into this haven of rest, this wonderful home of peace and joy.

Visit to Earth as a Ministering Spirit!
         (After Rebecca meets her brother Neil and other relatives, she returns to her home to take a nap:)
         While I lay in this blissful* rest, my brother Frank returned, and, without rousing me, bore me in his strong arms again to earth. I did not know, when he left us in our home, upon what mission he was going, though my father knew it was to return to my dear husband and accompany him upon his sad journey to his dead wife, to comfort and sustain and strengthen him in those first lonely hours of sorrow. They thought it best, for wise reasons, that I should wait a while before returning, and taste the blessedness of the new life, thus gaining strength for the trial before me.
         When I aroused from my sleep it was in the gray light of earth's morning, and I was standing on the doorstep of the house in Kentville that my brother and I had left together, some thirty-six hours before, reckoned by earth-time. I shuddered a little with a strange chill when I saw where we were, and turned quickly to my brother Frank, who stood beside me. He put his arm about me, and with a reassuring smile, said:
         "For their sakes be brave and strong, and try to make them understand your blessed change."
         I did not try to answer, though I took heart, and entered with him into the house. Everything was very quiet--no one seemed astir. My brother softly opened a door immediately to the right of the entrance, and motioned me to enter. I did so, and he closed it behind me, remaining himself outside.
         Something stood in the center of the room, and I soon discovered that it was a pall*. It was a great relief to me to see that it was not black, but a soft shade of gray. Someone was kneeling beside it, and as I slowly approached I saw it was my dear son. He was kneeling upon one knee, with his elbow resting on the other knee, and his face buried in his hand. One arm was thrown across the casket, as though he were taking a last embrace of his "little mother." I saw that the form within the casket lay as though peacefully sleeping, and was clad in silver gray, with soft white folds about the neck and breast. I was grateful that they had remembered my wishes so well.
         I put my arms about the neck of my darling son, and drew his head gently against my breast, resting my cheek upon his bowed head. Then I whispered, "Dearest, I am here beside you--living, breathing, strong and well. Will you not turn to me, instead of to that lifeless form in the casket? It is only the worn-out tenement*--I am your living mother."
         He lifted his head as though listening. Then, laying his hand tenderly against the white face in the casket he whispered, "Poor, dear little mother!" and again dropped his face into both hands, while his form shook with convulsive* sobs.
         As I strove to comfort him, the door opened and his lovely wife entered. I turned to meet her as she came slowly towards us. Midway in the room we met, and, taking both her hands tenderly in mine, I whispered, "Comfort him, darling girl, as only you can; he needs human love."
         She paused a moment irresolutely*, looking directly into my eyes, then passed on and knelt beside him, laying her upturned face against his shoulder. I saw his arm steal around her and draw her closely to him, then I passed from the room, feeling comforted that they were together.
         Outside the door I paused an instant, then, slowly ascending the stairs, I entered the once familiar room, whose door was standing ajar. All remained as when I had left it, save that no still form lay upon the white bed. As I expected, I found my precious husband in this room. He sat near the bay window, his arm resting upon the table, and his eyes bent sorrowfully upon the floor. My best friend sat near him and seemed trying to comfort him. When I entered the room, Frank arose from a chair close beside him and passed out, with a sympathetic look at me. I went at once to my dear husband, put my arms about him, and whispered:
         "Darling! Darling, I am here!"
         He stirred restlessly without changing his position. Virginia said, as though continuing a conversation, "I am sure she would say you left nothing undone that could possibly be done for her."
         "She is right," I whispered.
         "Still, she was alone at the last," he moaned.
         "Yes, dear, but who could know it was the last? She sank so suddenly under the pain. What can I say to comfort you? Oh, Will, come home with us! She would want you to, I am sure."
         He shook his head sadly, while the tears were in his eyes, as he said: "Work is my only salvation. I must go back in a very few days."
         She said no more, and he leaned back wearily in his easy-chair. I crept more closely to him and suddenly his arms closed about me. I whispered, "There, dear, do you not see that I am really with you?"
         He was very still, and the room was very quiet but for the ticking of my little clock still standing upon the dressing-case. Presently I knew by his regular breathing that he had found a short respite* from his sorrow. I slipped gently from his arms and went to my friend, kneeling beside her, and folding my arms about her.
         "Virginia, Virginia! You know I am not dead! Why do you grieve?"
         She looked over at the worn face of the man before her, then dropped her face into her hand, whispering, as though she had heard me and would answer:
         "Oh, darling, how could you leave him?"
         "I am here, dearest! Do realize that I am here!"
         She did not heed me, but sat absorbed in sorrowful thought.
         A few minutes later a stranger entered the room, and in a low voice said something about it being "near train time," and brought my husband his hat. He arose and gave his arm to Virginia, and, our son and his wife meeting them at the door, they started to descend the stairs. Just then my husband paused and cast one sorrowful glance around the room, his face white with pain. Our dear daughter stepped quickly to him, and, placing both arms about his neck, drew his face down to hers. ("God bless her in all things!" I softly prayed.) An instant they stood thus, then stifling his emotion, they all passed down the stairs into the room I had first entered.
         I kept very close to my dear husband, and never for a single instant left him through all the solemn and impressive services; through the sad journey to our old home; the last rites at the grave; the after-meeting with friends; and his final return to the weary routine of labor. How thankful I was that I had been permitted to taste, during that wonderful day in Heaven, the joys of the blessed life! How else could I ever have passed calmly through those trying scenes, and witnessed the sorrow of those so dear to my heart? I recognize the wisdom and mercy of the Father in having so ordered it.
         I soon found that my husband was right; work was his great refuge. During the day the routine of labor kept brain and hands busy, leaving the heart but little opportunity to indulge its sorrow. Night was his trying time. Kind friends would stay with him till bedtime; after that he was alone. He would turn restlessly on his pillow, and often arise and go into the adjoining room that had formerly been mine, and gaze upon the vacant bed with tearful eyes. It took all my powers to in any degree soothe and quiet him. After a time my brother Frank and I arranged to spend alternate nights with him, that he might never be alone, and especially were we with him upon his journeys. We found to our great joy that our influence over him was hourly growing stronger, and we were able to guide and help him in many ways.
         One night as I was silently watching beside him while he slept, many months after he was alone, I became conscious that evil threatened him. He was sleeping very peacefully, and I knew his dreams were happy ones by the smile upon his dear face. I passed into the hall of the hotel where he was staying, and found it dense with smoke. I hastened back to him and called, and tried to shake him, but he slept on peacefully. Then I called with all my strength, "Will!" close to his ear.
         Instantly he started up and said, "Yes, dear, I am coming!" just as he used to do when I called at night. Then in a moment he sank back with a sigh upon his pillow, murmuring, "What a vivid dream! I never heard her voice more distinctly in life."
         "Will!" I again called, pulling him by the hand with all my strength, "rise quickly! Your life is in danger!" In an instant he was out of bed, upon his feet, and hurriedly drawing on his clothes. "I am sure I cannot tell why I am doing this," he muttered to himself. "I only feel that I must! That surely was her voice I heard."
         "Hurry! Hurry!" I urged.
         He opened the door and met, not only the smoke, but tongues of flame.
         "Do not try the stairway--come!" and I drew him past the stairway, and through a narrow entrance to a second hall beyond, and down a second flight of stairs, filled with smoke, but as yet no flame. Another flight still below these, then into the open air, where he staggered, faint and exhausted, on to the sidewalk, and was quickly helped by friends into a place of safety.
         "I am sure I cannot tell what wakened me," he afterward said to a friend. "I dreamed I heard my wife calling me, and before I knew it I was dressing myself."
         "You did hear her, I have no doubt," she said. "Are they not 'all ministering spirits, sent forth to do service for the sake of them that shall inherit salvation'? What lovelier service could she do than to thus save the life of one so dear to her, whose earth-work was not yet done? Yes, you did hear her call you in time to escape. Thank God for such ministrations*."
         "Yes, it must be so," he answered, with a happy look. "Thank God indeed."
         After this he yielded much more readily to our influence, and thus began to enjoy, while yet upon earth, the reunion that so surely awaited us in the blessed life. I often went also to the home of our dear children, but there was so much to make them happy that they did not need me as their father did. Sometimes in hours of great physical prostration*, especially during the absence of his wife, I found that I could quiet the overwrought nerves of my dear son, and lead his tired mind to restful thoughts; but with youth and strength and love to support him, the time had not yet come when my ministrations were essential.

The Heavenly Lake!
         (After meeting her niece Mae:)
         Mae slipped her arm about my neck and whispered, "Dearest, come." I yielded to her passively; I could not do otherwise. She led me into the water, down, down into its crystal depths, and when it seemed to me we must be hundreds of feet beneath the surface, she threw herself prostrate* and bade me do the same. I did so, and immediately we began to slowly rise. Presently I found that we no longer rose, but were slowly floating in mid-current, many feet still beneath the surface. Then appeared to me a marvel. Look where I would, perfect prismatic* rays surrounded me. I seemed to be resting in the heart of a prism; and such vivid yet delicate coloring, mortal eyes never rested upon. Instead of the seven colors, as we see them here, the colors blended in such rare graduation of shades as to make the rays seem almost infinite, or they really were so; I could not decide which.
         As I lay watching this marvelous panorama, for the colors deepened and faded like the lights of the aurora borealis, I was attracted by the sound of distant music. Although Mae and I no longer clung together, we did not drift apart, as one would naturally suppose we might, but lay within easy speaking distance of each other, although few words were spoken by either of us; the silence seemed too sacred to be lightly broken. We lay upon, or rather within, the water, as upon the softest couch. It required no effort whatever to keep ourselves afloat; the gentle undulation* of the waves soothed and rested us. When the distant music arrested my attention, I turned and looked at Mae. She smiled back at me, but did not speak. Presently I caught the words, "Glory and honor, dominion and power," and I knew it was still the cherub choir, although they must now be many miles distant. Then the soft tones of a bell--a silver bell with silver tongue--fell on my ear, and as the last notes died away, I whispered:
         "Tell me, Mae."
         "Yes, dear, I will. The waters of this lake catch the light in a most marvelous manner, as you have seen; a wiser head than mine must tell you why. They also transmit musical sounds--only musical sounds--for a great distance. The song was evidently from the distant shore of the lake."
         "And the bell?"
         "That is the bell which in the city across the lake calls to certain duties at this hour."
         "There never was a sweeter call to duty," I said.
         "Yes, its notes are beautiful. Hark! Now it rings a chime."
         We lay and listened, and as we listened a sweet spell wrapped me round, and I slept as peacefully as a child on its mother's bosom. I awoke with a strange sense of invigoration and strength. It was a feeling wholly dissimilar to that experienced during a bath in the river, yet I could not explain how. Mae said:
         "One takes away the last of the earth-life, and prepares us for the life upon which we enter; the other fills us to overflowing with a draught from the Celestial Life itself."

Heavenly Praises!
         (After meeting the Master and spending time talking with Him, Rebecca talks to her brother:)
         "Frank, what do you do in Heaven when you want to pray?"
         "We praise!" he answered.
         "Then let us praise now," I said.
         And standing there, with clasped hands, we lifted up our hearts and voices in a hymn of praise to God; my brother with his clear, strong voice leading, I following. As the first notes sounded, I thought the roof echoed them; but I soon found that other voices blended with ours, until the whole house seemed filled with unseen singers. Such a grand hymn of praise earth never heard. And as the hymn went on, I recognized many dear voices from the past--Will Griggs' tenor, Mary Allis' exquisite soprano, and many another voice that wakened memories of the long ago. Then as I heard sweet child-voices, and looked up, I saw above us such a cloud of radiant baby faces as flooded my heart with joy. The room seemed filled with them.

Earthly Sorrows
         (Speaking with a young friend, Mary Bates, who is talking about her mother, who is heartbroken since she passed on:)
         "We cannot sorrow here as we did on earth, because we have learned to know that the will of the Father is always tender and wise; but even Heaven can never be complete for me while I know that my precious mother is forgetful of her many rare blessings, simply because I may not be with her, in the flesh, to share them. There is my father, and the boys--why, I am as truly hers still as they are! I often sit with them all, with her hand in mine, or my arms about her--my dear little mother! Why must she see me, to recognize this? But this is almost complaining, is it not? Some day she will know all! We must be patient."

A Look of Love from the Master!
         (When Jesus appeared at the grand auditorium, all the congregation of saints sank to their knees in praise and adoration:)
         Slowly the voices died away, and a holy silence fell upon us. Presently, slowly and reverently, all arose and resumed their places. No, not all. Sweet Mary Bates had accompanied us to the sanctuary, and I now noticed that she alone still knelt in our midst, with clasped hands and radiant uplifted face, her lovely eyes fixed upon the Savior, as He still stood waiting before us, with such a look of self-forgetful adoration and love as made her truly divine. She was so rapt* I dared not disturb her; but in a moment the Master turned and met her adoring eyes with such a look of loving recognition, that with a deep sign of satisfied desire, as He turned again, she quietly resumed her seat beside me, slipping her little hand in mine with all the confidence of a child who feels sure it is understood to the utmost.

Growing Stronger in the Spirit!
         (After visiting the grand auditorium and hearing first Martin Luther speak, and then later the Lord:)
         As the days passed I found my desires often led me to the sacred lake, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or more of my own family circle--my revered father and precious mother, my dear brother and sister, and many beloved friends. It was always to me an inspiration and an uplifting. I never could grow sufficiently familiar with it to overcome the first great awe with which it inspired me; but I found that the oftener I bathed or floated and slept in its crystal clear current, the stronger I grew in spirit, and the more clearly I comprehended the mysteries of the world about me.
         My almost daily intercourse with the dear ones of our home life from whom I had so long been separated served to restore to me the home feeling that had been the greatest solace* of my mortal life; and I began to realize that this was indeed the true life, instead of that probationary life which we had always regarded as such.

The Sacred Lake-- And a Visit with an Old Friend!
         (After greeting her older sister upon her arrival in Heaven, and noticing how young she looked:)
         After we had left my parents and friends on our return from our welcome to my sister, my brother hastened away upon some mission, and I walked on alone toward the sacred lake. I felt the need of a rest in its soothing waters after the exciting scenes through which I had passed. I had hitherto visited the lake in the early morning hours; it was now something past noontide of the heavenly day, and but few persons lingered on the shore. The boats that sped across its calm surface seemed to be filled rather with those intent upon some duty than simply pleasure-seekers. I walked slowly down into the water, and soon found myself floating, as at former times, in mid-current. The wonderful prismatic rays that in the early morning were such a marvel, now blended into a golden glory, with different shades of rose and purple flashing in their splendor. To me it seemed even more beautiful than the rainbow tints; just as the mature joys of our earthly life cast into shadow, somewhat, the more fleeting pleasures of youth. I could but wonder what its evening glories would be, and resolved to come at some glowing twilight, and see if they would not remind me of the calm hours of life's closing day. I heard the chimes from the silver bell of the great city ringing an anthem as I lay, and its notes seemed to chant clearly:
         "Holy! Holy! Holy! Lord God Almighty!" The waters took up the song and a thousand waves about me responded, "Holy! Holy! Holy!"
         The notes seemed to "vibrate," if I may use the expression, upon the waves, producing a wondrously harmonious effect. The front row in the battalion of advancing waves softly chanted "Holy" as they passed onward; immediately the second roll of waves took up the word that the first seemed to have dropped as it echoed the second "Holy" in the divine chorus, then it, too, passed onward to take up the second note as the third advancing column caught the first; and so it passed and echoed from wave to wave, until it seemed millions of tiny waves about me had taken up and were bearing their part in this grand crescendo--this wonderful anthem. Language fails me--I cannot hope to convey to others this experience as it came to me. It was grand, wonderful, overpowering. I lay and listened until my whole being was filled with the divine melody, and I seemed to be a part of the great chorus, then I, too, lifted up my voice and joined with full heart in the thrilling song of praise.
         I found that, contrary to my usual custom, I floated rapidly away from the shore whence I had entered the water, and after a time was conscious that I was approaching a portion of the lake shore I had never yet visited. Refreshed and invigorated, I ascended the sloping banks, to find myself in the midst of a lovely suburban village, similar to the one where our own home was situated. There was some difference in the architecture or construction of the houses, though they were no less beautiful than others I had seen. Many were constructed of polished woods, and somewhat resembled the finest of the chalets one sees in Switzerland, though far surpassing them in all that gives pleasure to the artistic eye.
         As I wandered on, feasting my eyes upon the lovely views about me, I was particularly pleased by the appearance of an unusually attractive house. Its broad verandas almost overhung the waters of the lake, the wide low steps running on one side of the house quite to the water's edge. Several graceful swans were leisurely drifting about with the current, and a bird similar to our southern mockingbird, but with softer voice, was singing and swinging in the low branches overhead. There were many larger and more imposing villas near, but none possessed for me the charm of this sweet home.
         Beneath one of the large flowering trees close by this cottage home, I saw a woman sitting, weaving with her delicate hands, apparently without shuttle or needle, a snow-white gossamer-like* fabric that fell in a soft fleecy heap at her side as the work progressed. She was so very small in stature that at first glance I supposed she was a child; but a closer scrutiny showed her to be a mature woman, though with the glow of youth still upon her smooth cheek. Something familiar in her gestures, rather than her appearance, caused me to feel that it was not the first time we had met; and growing accustomed now to the delightful surprises that met me everywhere in this world of rare delights, I drew near to accost* her, when, before I could speak, she looked up, and the doubt was gone.
         "Maggie!" "Mrs. Springer dear!" we cried simultaneously, as, dropping her work from her hands, she stepped quickly up to greet me.
         Our greeting was warm and fervent, and her sweet face glowed with a welcome that reminded me of the happy days when we had met, in the years long gone, by the shore of that other beautiful lake in the world of our earth-life.
         "Now I know why I came this way today--to find you, dear," I said, as we sat side by side, talking as we never had talked on earth; for the sweet shyness of her mortal life had melted away in the balmy* air of Heaven.
         "What is this lovely fabric you are weaving?" I presently asked, lifting the silken fleecy web in my fingers as I spoke.
         "Some draperies for Nellie's room," she said. "You know we two have lived alone together so much, I thought it would seem more like home to her, to us both, if we did the same here. So this cottage is our own special home, just a step from Marie's," pointing to an imposing house a few yards distant, "and I am fitting it up as daintily as I can, especially her room."
         "Oh, let me help you, Maggie dear!" I said. "It would be such a pleasure to me."
         She hesitated an instant, with something of the old-time shyness, then said:
         "That is so like you, dear Mrs. Springer. I have set my heart on doing Nellie's room entirely myself--there is no hurry about it, you know--but if you really would enjoy it, I shall love to have you help me in the other rooms."
         "And will you teach me how to weave these delicate hangings?"
         "Yes, indeed. Shall I give you your first lesson now?" Lifting the dainty thread, she showed me how to toss and wind it through my fingers till it fell away in shining folds. It was very light and fascinating work, and I soon was weaving it almost as rapidly as she did.
         "Now, I can help Carroll!" was my happy thought, as I saw the shimmering fabric grow beneath my hands. "Tomorrow I will go and show him how beautifully we can drape the doors and windows."
         So in Heaven our first thought ever is to give pleasure to others.
         "You are an apt scholar," said Maggie, laughing happily; "and what a charming hour you have given me!"
         "What a charming hour you have given me, my dear!" I answered.
         When we parted it was with the understanding that every little while I was to repeat the visit. When I urged her likewise to come to me, the old-time shyness again appeared, as she said:
         "Oh, they are all strangers to me, and here we shall be entirely alone. You come to me."
         So I yielded, as in Heaven we never seek to gain reluctant consent for any pleasure, however dear; and many were the happy hours spent with her in the cottage by the lake.

More Old Friends!
         (After visiting the great forest and plain, and floating home on the river:)
         So much occurred, and so rapidly, from the very hour of my entrance within the beautiful gates, that it is impossible for me to transcribe it all. I have been able only to cull* here and there incidents that happened day by day; and in so doing many things I would gladly have related have unconsciously been omitted. Of the many dear friends I met, only a very few have been mentioned, for the reason that, of necessity, such meetings are so similar in many respects that the constant repetition, in detail, would become wearisome. I have aimed principally to give such incidents as would show the beautiful domestic life in that happy world; to make apparent the reverence and love all hearts feel toward our blessed Lord for every good and perfect gift, and to show forth the marvelous power of the Christ-love even in the life beyond the grave.
         This world, strange and new to me, held multitudes of those I had loved in the years gone by, and there was scarcely an hour that did not renew for me the ties that once were severed in the mortal life. I remember that as I was walking one day in the neighborhood of Mrs. Wickham's home, shortly after my first memorable visit there, I was attracted by an unpretentious* but very beautiful house, almost hidden by luxuriant climbing rose vines, whose flowers of creamy whiteness were beyond compare with any roses I had yet seen in earth or Heaven. Meeting Mrs. Wickham, I pointed to the house and asked: "Who lives there?"
         "Suppose you go over and see," she said.
         "Is it any one I know?" I asked.
         "I fancy so. See, someone is even now at the door as though expecting you."
         I crossed over the snowy walk and flowery turf--for the house stood in an angle formed by two paths crossing, almost opposite Mrs. Wickham's--and before I could ascend the steps I found myself in the embrace of two loving arms.
         "Rebecca Springer! I was sure it was you when I saw you go to Mrs. Wickham's a day or two ago. Did not she tell you I was here?"
         "She had no opportunity until today," I said. "But dear Aunt Ann, I should have found you soon; I am sure you know that."
         "Yes, I am sure you would."
         Then I recounted* to her something of my visit to Mrs. Wickham's that eventful day. She listened with her dear face full of sympathy, then said:
         "There, dear, you need not tell me. Do I not know? When the Master comes to gladden my eyes, I have no thought or care for anything beyond, for days and days! Oh, the joy, the peace of knowing I am safe in this blessed haven! How far beyond all our earthly dreams is this divine life!"
         She sat for a moment lost in thought, then said wistfully: "Now, tell me of my children-- are they coming?"
         I gladdened her heart with all the cheering news I could bring of her loved ones; and so we talked the hours away, recalling many sweet memories of the earth-life, of friends and home and family ties, and looking forward to the future coming to us of those whom even the joys of Heaven could not banish from our hearts.
         Then also another evening, as the soft twilight fell, and many of our dear home circle were gathered with us in the great "flower-room," we heard a step upon the veranda, and as my brother went to the open door a gentle voice said: "Is Mrs. Springer really here?"
         "She is really here. Come and see for yourself." And sweet Mary Green entered the room.
         "I am so glad to welcome you home!" she said, coming to me with extended hands, and looking into mine with her tender, earnest eyes.
         "My precious girl," I cried, taking her to my heart in a warm embrace. "I have been asking about you, and longing to see you."
         "I could scarcely wait to reach here when I heard that you had come. Now, tell me everything--everything!" she said as I drew her to a seat close beside me.
         But questions asked and the answers given are too sacred for rehearsal here. Every individual member of her dear home-circle was discussed, and many were the incidents she recounted to me that had occurred in her presence when her mother and I were together and talking of the dear child we considered far removed from our presence.
         "I was often so close that I could have touched you with my hand, had the needed power been given," she said.
         After a long, close conversation had been held between us, I took her to the library, whither the rest had gone to examine a new book just that day received. I introduced her to them all as the daughter of dear friends still on earth, confident of the welcome she would receive. My youngest sister and she at once became interested in each other, finding congeniality* in many of their daily pursuits, and I was glad to believe they would henceforth see much of each other in many different ways.
         There was no measurement of time as we measure it here, although many still spoke in the old-time language of "months" and "days" and "years." I have no way of describing it as it seemed to me then. There were periods, and allotted times; there were hours for happy duties, hours for joyful pleasures, and hours for holy praise. I only know it was all harmony, all joy, all peace, at all times and in all conditions.

News of Her Husband's Arrival!
         (After three years in Heaven, according to the calendar of earth, Rebecca's brother tells her that he has news for her--her husband is coming:)
         "When will it be? Am I to go to him?" I asked.
         Frank hesitated an instant before saying: "Of course you are permitted to go, if your heart will not be denied."
         "Oh, I must go to him! I must be the first to greet him! Perhaps it may be granted him to see me even while he is yet in the flesh."
         He shook his head sadly at this, and said, "No, dear; he will not know you."
         "Why? Frank, tell me all--and why you think, as I plainly see you do, that it is not best I should go."
         "He was stricken suddenly in the midst of his work, while apparently in perfect health, and has not regained consciousness since; nor will he ever on earth. Hence your presence could be no solace to him."
         "When was this?"
         "Three days ago; I have been with him almost constantly by day and night ever since."
         "Oh, why did you not tell me sooner?"
         "It was thought wise to spare you the unnecessary pain of seeing him suffer when you could not minister to him, and I have come to tell you now that you may go if you still so desire."
         "He will know me as soon as the struggle is past?"
         "Yes, but he will be bewildered and weak; he will need stronger help and guidance than you alone can give, and you will miss the rapture of the meeting as it would be a little later on."

         (Her brother Frank then departs for earth, and Rebecca has a momentary trial that she could not go with him.)
         "How strange," I thought, "that even in this matter, so near to my heart, I am able to yield unmurmuringly! Father, I thank Thee! I thank Thee for the glad reunion so near at hand; but, even more than that, for the sweet submission in all things that has grown into my life; that I can yield to Thy will even when Thou wouldst permit it to be otherwise."
         (She prepares herself and the house for her husband's arrival.)
         Uplifted with a new, strange delight, I recrossed the lawn, stopping upon the veranda before entering the house, to gather a knot of cream-white roses and fasten them to my breast. Then going to the library, I refilled the golden bowl with the spicy-breathed scarlet carnations, laying one aside to fasten upon my husband's shoulder. I wanted to myself gather the flowers that would greet him on his coming. I twisted up my hair in the manner that he had most admired, and fastened a creamy bud within the folds, that I might seem to him as I had of old.

         (After her husband's arrival:)
         "Oh, darling, it is a blessed, blessed life!" I said.
         "I already realize the blessedness," he replied, "for has it not given me back my brother and my wife--my precious wife!"
         Early the following morning I said to my husband and our brother: "We must go to Father and Mother Springer's today. They have the first claim, after ours, Frank."
         "Yes, we will go at once," they both replied.
         So together we all started. In the earliest days of my heavenly life I had sought out with much joy the home of my husband's parents, and was by them accorded, as in the earth-life, a warm place in their hearts, and many happy hours had we spent together since. Now we were taking to them a favorite son, and I realized how his coming would bring gladness to their hearts and home. It was a joyful meeting, especially to our mother, and the day was far spent before we arose to return.
         "William," said our mother, fondly laying her hand upon his arm, "yours was a happy home on earth--I used to think a perfect home; it will be far happier here," with a loving glance at me.
         "I am sure of that, mother. I have my dear wife and Frank constantly with me; and you and my father and Josephine"--a favorite niece--"to come to here, and the joys and privileges of Heaven."
         We turned to go, and upon the threshold met an aunt who in the earth-life--blind and helpless--had been a favorite with us all.
         "My dear children," she exclaimed, "how good it seems to see you all again!"
         "Aunt Cynthia!" my husband said fondly.
         "Yes, Aunt Cynthia, but no longer groping helpless in the darkness. 'Whereas I once was blind, now I see,'" she quoted, smiling happily.
         And so it was--the Master's touch had rested on the sightless eyes, and, closing to the darkness of earth, they had opened upon the glories of Heaven. Marvelous transition! No wonder we left her singing:

         Glory to Him who this marvel hath wrought,
         Filling my spirit with joy and delight!
         Lo, in my blindness I safely have walked
         Out of the darkness into the light!

Supplemental Chapter
         In the many letters received since the publication of Intra Muros, repeated inquiries have been made of me on different points contained in the book, requiring much correspondence, and it has been suggested that possibly the addition of a few pages, as a supplement to the book, might explain some matters, or, possibly, make more clear some points that have not been fully comprehended by the reader.
         Let me in the beginning reassert what I have heretofore stated: that I have never claimed that this strange experience is either a revelation or an inspiration. It came to me during a period of great physical suffering and prostration, and I have always considered it as sent in compensation for that suffering. Be this as it may, it has been a great comfort and help to me, and, through the letters received from others, I am led to believe it has been the same to many who have read it, for which cause I am extremely gratified. I wish that I might give the entire experience just as it came to me, but I find that earth-language is wholly inadequate for me to do so. There were so many mysteries, so many teachings far beyond anything that in this life we have known, that I find myself bewildered and lost when I attempt to convey to others the marvelous things that at that time seemed indeed to me to be a most wonderful revelation.
         The question has repeatedly been asked me, "Was this a real experience, or merely a fanciful* sketch?" What I have written above will as nearly answer that question as it is possible for me to do. Anything that I might add on that point would simply be superfluous*. To me, at the time, it was as real as any experience in this life could possibly be.
         Questions have been asked respecting the comparative distances in Heaven and our powers of passing from one point to another; and the question has even been asked if in the other life we developed wings that aided us in passage, as the wings of a bird. These matter-of-fact questions are sometimes quite difficult to answer, for my belief is, that if I were really in the other life, as during this experience I seemed to be, my thoughts would be so far above, so lifted beyond such temporal matters, that I would be unable to answer such inquiries satisfactorily on my return to this life. Looking back upon it now, and trying to gather facts from the impressions that I then received, I should say that none who have ever passed through mortal life would in any way be changed from their present personal appearance, except to be etherealized* and glorified. When at the close of that wonderful day when I had first met the Savior, we heard the angel voices as we stood together in the great flower-room, and, looking upward, saw the child faces in the golden twilight above us, they had delicate shadowy wings, half concealing the baby forms. Except for this, I have no recollection of having seen any of those glorious wings of which we so often read.
         To me it seems that to the angels of God who have always lived in Heaven, these are given; but to those who have suffered and toiled and borne the cross below, is given only the glorified form, such as our Savior Himself bore. We appear to our friends when we meet them over there just as they saw us here, only purified and perfect. Still, we had powers of locomotion* given us that carried us from point to point swiftly and securely, as though borne by a boat upon the waters.
         I do not know how I can better illustrate this point than by giving a little incident not mentioned in the book. I remember, as I sat one morning upon the upper terrace in the house of my sister whom I had welcomed there soon after my arrival, and who, though really then a denizen* of earth, has since passed over and taken possession of that beautiful home prepared for her, that my sister said to me:
         "I often look across the river to those lovely hills in the distance, and wonder if it is all as beautiful there as here. I mean some day to go and see."
         "Why not go today?" was my answer.
         "Could you go with me this morning?" was her inquiry, as she turned her radiant face again toward the river and the lovely fields beyond.
         "With pleasure," I replied. "I have often wished to go myself. There is something very inviting in the beautiful landscape beyond the river. Where is Oliver?" I asked; "will he not accompany us?"
         "No," she said, looking smilingly toward me, "he has gone upon an important mission for the Master today; but you and I, dear, can go, and be at home again before his return."
         "Then let us do so," I replied, rising and giving her my hand.
         She at once arose, and, instead of turning toward the stairway in the center of the building, we turned and walked deliberately to the low coping* that surrounded the upper veranda. Without a moment's hesitation we stepped over this into the sweet air that lay about us. There was no more fear of falling than if our feet had been upon the solid earth. We had the power of passing through the air at will, and through the water, just as we had the power of walking upon the crystal paths and greens about us.
         We ascended slightly until we were just above the treetops, and then--what shall I say?--we did not fly--we made no effort either with our hands or our feet; I can only think of the word "drifting" that will at all describe this wonderful experience. We went as a leaf or a feather floats through the air on a balmy day, and the sensation was most delightful. We saw beneath us through the green branches of the trees the little children playing, and the people walking--some for pleasure, some for duty. As we neared the river we looked down on the pleasure-boats upon the water and upon the people sitting or lying or walking on the pebbly bottom; and we saw them with the same distinctness as though we were looking at them simply through the atmosphere.
         Conversing as we drifted onward, we soon were over the tops of the hills to which we had looked so longingly from the veranda of my sister's house, and, for some time, we had no words to exchange; our hearts were filled with sensations such as only the scenes of Heaven can give.
         As we passed onward, in looking down we began to see many suburban villages, similar to that in which our own happy homes were situated. Among many of them there was an unfamiliar air, and the architecture of the buildings in many respects seemed quite different from our own. I suggested to my sister that we drop downward a little. On doing so, we soon realized what caused this apparent difference in the architecture and surroundings. Where our homes were situated we were surrounded by people we had known and loved on earth, and of our own nationality. Many of these villages over which we were now passing we found were formed from what, to us, would be termed of foreign nations, and each village retained some of the peculiarities of its earth-life, and these, to us, were naturally unfamiliar. We recognized again the wisdom and goodness of the Father in thus allowing friends of the same nationality to be located near each other in Heaven, as on earth.
         As we still drifted onward, in passing over an exquisitely beautiful valley, between low hills of the most enchanting verdure, we saw a group of people seated upon the ground in a semicircle. They seemed to be hundreds in number, and in their midst a man was standing who, apparently, was talking to them. Something familiar, and yet unfamiliar, in the scene attracted us, and I said, "Let us go nearer, and hear, if possible, what he is saying, and see who these people are."
         Upon doing this we found the people to resemble in a great measure our own Indian tribes; their dress, in a manner, corresponding to that worn upon earth, though so etherealized as to be surpassingly beautiful. But the dusky faces and the long black hair still remained. The faces, with intense interest depicted on each, were turned toward the man who, we could see, was talking to them. Looking upon him, in a whisper of surprise I said to my sister: "Why, he is a missionary!"
         As so often seemed to me to happen in that experience, when a surprise or a difficulty presented itself, there was always someone near to answer and enlighten us. And so we found on this occasion that our instructor was beside us ready to answer any surprise or question that might be asked. He said at once:
         "Yes, you are right. This is a missionary who gave his life to what on earth were called the heathen. He spent many years in working for them and enlightening those who sat in darkness, with the result, as you see before you, of bringing hundreds into the kingdom of the Master. But, as you will naturally suppose, they have much to learn, and here he still gathers them about him, and day by day leads them higher and higher into the blessed life."
         "Are there many such," I asked, "doing this work in this beautiful realm?"
         "Many hundreds," he said. "To these folks, unenlightened as they were when they first came, Heaven is as beautiful and happy a place as it is to any who have ascended higher, simply because we can enjoy only in the capacity to which our souls can reach. There are none of us who have not much yet to learn of this wonderful country."
         In several instances, as we drifted across above the villages, we heard songs of praise arising from the temples, and from people collected in different ways. In many cases, to our surprise, the hymns and the words were those with which we had been familiar on earth, and, although sung in a strange tongue, we understood them all. That was another of the wonderful surprises of Heaven. There was no language there that we could not understand.
         On, and on, and on, through wonderful scenes of beauty we passed, returning finally to our own homes by a different way from that by which we had gone forth, seeming to have made almost a circle in our pleasant journeyings. When I left my sister in her own home she whispered to me as she bade me good-by for the present:
         "It has been a day of such wonderful rest and pleasure that we must soon repeat it together." And I answered:
         "Yes, dear, we will."
         In several instances the subject of dual marriages has been introduced. More than once it has been suggested, "If a man marrying in early life, and, being devotedly attached to the woman he has married, should unfortunately lose her, and after many years of solitary waiting find another congenial soul to whom his whole heart goes out and marriage is the result, and they have many years of wedded happiness together before she, too, is called, to whom will he belong in the other life?"
         Speaking from my own natural intuitions, I cannot but think that as soon as the immortal part of us leaves the earthly tenement, it lays down forever, with that tenement, all thoughts that embarrassed or grieved or pained the spirit. In the homes of Heaven there was perpetual love and joy and peace and happiness without measure. This one thing I know: In Heaven are no conflicting ties, no questions that vex*, no conditions that annoy. The whole heart springs up to do the will of the Father, and nothing less than that will suffice.
         In answer to the question in many instances proposed to me, as to whether I consider this experience as a revelation, I can only say, as heretofore, that I gave it as it came to me, and everyone must draw his own inference concerning it. I can be the guide for no one.
         There are some seeming inconsistencies in the book, of which I myself am aware. Looking back upon it after nearly four years have passed, it seems to me to be more a series of instructions such as we give little children here in a kindergarten. It does not purport to be a revelation of what has been or what will be, in the strict sense of the word, but, as I have already suggested, more as we would teach children in a kindergarten. I myself noticed, in transcribing this strange experience, the fact that the first lesson to be taught almost invariably came as an illustration; and, after my wonder and pleasure had taken in all that the picture itself would teach, then followed the revelation, or a general application of its meaning. For instance, that I may make my meaning more clear: When I myself first entered within the gates, I was shown the wonders of the celestial gardens and the magic of the beautiful river; then the meeting with the dear ones from whom I had been so long parted. And so I came to know the rapture of the disembodied spirit on its first entrance "Within the Gates." Afterwards followed the instruction or first lessons concerning this life into which I seemed to have entered, until, as I said, the first illustrations and the instructions formed for me but one perfect lesson. And when, as time passed, I met and welcomed my dear sister, my husband and my son, I knew the other side of the question--the joy that came even to the angels in Heaven when they welcomed the beloved ones who came to them from the world below.
         Again, the question is many times repeated, "Does this experience retain its vividness as time passes, or does it grow unreal and dreamlike to you?" I can partially forget some of the happiest experiences of my earth-life, but time seems only to intensify to me the wonders of those days when my feet really stood upon the border-land of the two worlds. It seemed to me that at every step we took in the divine life our souls reached up toward something better, and we had no inclination to look behind to that which had passed. Like the cup that is filled to overflowing at the fountain with pure and sparkling water, so our souls were filled--more than filled--with draughts from the fountain of all good, until there was no longer room for aught else. "How then," you ask, "could you reach out for more, when you had all that you could receive?" Because moment by moment, hour by hour, our souls grew and expanded and opened to receive fresh draughts of divine instruction which was constantly lifting us nearer to the source of all perfection.
         Some of the letters that have come to me have been so pathetic in their inquiries, that they have called forth sympathetic tears, and an intense longing to speak with authority upon the questions raised. That privilege God has not given me. I can only tell how it seemed to me in those blissful hours when earth seemed remote and Heaven very near and real. One suffering mother writes, "Do you think I could pray still for my darling girl?" How I longed to take her in sympathetic arms and whisper to her that the dear child of her love, I doubted not, was praising God continually and had no longer need of earthly prayer. She loved and trusted the Savior as she went down into the Valley of Shadows, and His loving arms received and comforted her. To all such I would say--and many are the letters of like import received:
         "Look up, dear friends, and see the loved ones, as I saw those so dear to me, happy and blessed beyond all human conception in the house of many mansions prepared for us by our loving Father." Oh, those wonderful mansions upon which my longing heart looks back! Believe in them, look forward to them, beloved friends, for we have the Savior's promise that they are there: "In My Father's house are many mansions." His promises never fail; and I am sure of one thing: they will not be less beautiful than those I looked upon in my vision.
         This thought, to me, answers in a measure the questions asked in regard to dual marriages. My own belief, of this mortal life, is, that no two friends can occupy the same place in our hearts. Each heart is filled with chambers stately and old, and to each beloved guest is assigned a chamber exclusively for himself. That room is always his. If death, or distance, or even disgrace, separates him from us, still the room is his and his only forever. No other person can ever occupy it. Others may have rooms equally choice, but when a guest has once departed from the room he has held in another heart, the door of that room is barred forever; it is held inviolate*--sacred to the departed guest. And so, in Heaven, each guest has his separate room or home. "In My Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place (room) for you."
         "What are the duties of Heaven?" So many and varied, I should judge, as to make the question unanswerable. Much in Intra Muros shows the trend of daily life.
         "Rest?" One of the duties as well as the pleasures of Heaven. Rest does not of necessity mean inactivity. How often in this life does laying aside of one duty and taking up another bring rest to both mind and body! Still, as I found it, there was at times absolute "rest" for both mind and body in that blissful repose that only Heaven can give.
         In conclusion I can only reiterate that I am no prophet, I am no seer; but, in my inmost soul, I honestly believe that if the joys of Heaven are greater, if the glories "Within the Gates" are more radiant than I in my vision beheld them, I cannot understand how even the immortal spirit can bear to look upon them.

Return from Tomorrow
By George C. Ritchie, Jr., M.D.

         When I was sent to the base hospital at Camp Barkeley, Texas, early in December 1943, I had no idea I was seriously ill. I'd just completed basic training, and my only thought was to get on the train to Richmond, Virginia, to enter medical school as part of the army's doctor-training program. It was an unheard-of break for a private*, and I wasn't going to let a chest cold cheat me out of it.
         But days passed and I didn't get better. It was December 19 before I was moved to the recuperation wing, where a jeep was to pick me up at 4:00 A.M. the following morning to drive me to the railroad station.
         A few more hours and I'd make it! Then about 9:00 P.M. I began to run a fever. I went to the ward boy and begged some aspirin.
         Despite the aspirin, my head throbbed, and I'd cough into the pillow to smother the sounds. Three A.M.--I decided to get up and dress.
         The next half hour is a blur to me. I remember being too weak to finish dressing. I remember a nurse coming to the room, then a doctor, and then a bell-clanging ambulance ride to the X-ray building. Could I stand, the captain was asking, long enough to get one picture? I struggled unsteadily to my feet.
         The whir of the machine is the last thing I remember.
         When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a little room I had never seen before. A tiny light burned in a nearby lamp. For a while I lay there, trying to recall where I was. All of a sudden I sat bolt upright. The train! I'd miss the train!
         Now I know that what I am about to describe will sound incredible. I do not understand it any more than I ask you to; all that I can do is relate the events of that night as they occurred. I sprang out of bed and looked around the room for my uniform. Not on the bedrail. I stopped, staring. Someone was lying in the bed I had just left.
         I stepped closer in the dim light, then drew back. He was dead. The slack jaw, the gray skin were awful. Then I saw the ring. On his left hand was the ring I had worn for years.
         I ran into the hall, eager to escape the mystery of that room. Richmond, that was the all-important thing--getting to Richmond. I started down the hall for the outside door.
         "Look out!" I shouted to an orderly bearing down on me. He seemed not to hear, and a second later he had passed the very spot where I stood as though I had not been there.
         It was too strange to think about. I reached the door, went through and found myself in the darkness outside, speeding toward Richmond. Running? Flying? I only know that the dark earth was slipping past while other thoughts occupied my mind, terrifying and unaccountable ones. The orderly had not seen me. What if the people at medical school could not see me either?
         In utter confusion I stopped by a telephone pole in a town by a large river and put my hand against the guy wire*. At least the wire seemed to be there, but my hand could not make contact with it. One thing was clear: In some unimaginable way I had lost my firmness of flesh, the hand that could grip that wire, the body that other people saw.
         I was beginning to know, too, that the body on that bed was mine, unaccountably separated from me, and that my job was to get back and rejoin it as fast as I could.
         Finding the base and the hospital again was no problem. Indeed, I seemed to be back there almost as soon as I thought of it. But where was the little room I had left? So began what must have been one of the strangest searches ever to take place: the search for myself. As I ran from one ward to the next, past room after room of sleeping soldiers, all about my age, I realized how unfamiliar we are with our own faces. Several times I stopped by a sleeping figure that was exactly as I imagined myself. But the ring was lacking, and I would speed on.
         At last I entered a little room with a single dim light. A sheet had been drawn over the figure on the bed, but the arms lay along the blanket. On the left hand was the ring.
         I tried to draw back the sheet, but I could not seize it. And now that I had found myself, how could one join two people who were so completely separate? And there, standing before this problem, I thought suddenly:
         "This is death. This is what we human beings call 'death,' this splitting up of one's self." It was the first time I had connected death with what had happened to me.
         In that most despairing moment, the little room began to fill with light. I say "light," but there is no word in our language to describe brilliance that intense. I must try to find words, however, because as incomprehensible as the experience was to my intellect, it has affected every moment of my life since then.
         The light which entered that room was Jesus: I knew because a thought was deep within me, "You are in the presence of the Son of God." I have called Him "light," but I could also have said "love," for that room was flooded, pierced, illuminated, by the most total compassion I have ever felt. It was a presence so comforting, so joyous and all-satisfying, that I wanted to lose myself forever in the wonder of it.
         But something else was present in that room. With the presence of Jesus (simultaneously, though I must tell it one by one) also had entered every single episode of my entire life. There they were, every event and thought and conversation, as palpable* as a series of pictures. There was no first or last, each one was contemporary*, each one asked a single question, "What did you do with your time on earth?"
         I looked anxiously among the scenes before me: school, home, scouting and the cross-country track team--a fairly typical boyhood, yet in the light of that presence it seemed a trivial and irrelevant existence.
         I searched my mind for good deeds.
         "Did you tell anyone about Me?" came the question.
         "I didn't have time to do much," I answered. "I was planning to, then this happened. I'm too young to die!"
         "No one," the thought was inexpressibly* gentle, "is too young to die."
         And now a new wave of light spread through the room already so incredibly bright, and suddenly we were in another world. Or rather, I suddenly perceived all around us a very different world occupying the same place. I followed Jesus through ordinary streets and countrysides and everywhere I saw this other existence strangely superimposed on our familiar world.
         It was thronged with people. People with the unhappiest faces I have ever seen. Each grief seemed different. I saw businessmen walking the corridors of the places they had worked, trying vainly to get someone to listen to them. I saw a mother following a 60-year-old man--her son, I guessed--cautioning him. He did not seem to be listening.
         Suddenly I was remembering myself, that very night, caring about nothing but getting to Richmond. Was it the same for these people; had their hearts and minds been all concerned with earthly things, and now, having lost earth, were they still fixed hopelessly here? I wondered if this was Hell. To care most when you are most powerless; this would be Hell indeed.
         I was permitted to look at two more worlds that night--I cannot say "spirit worlds" for they were too real, too solid. Both were introduced the same way; a new quality of light, a new openness of vision, and suddenly it was apparent what had been there all along. The second world, like the first, occupied this very surface of the earth, but it was a vastly different realm. Here was no absorption with earthly things, but instead with truth.
         I saw sculptors and philosophers here, composers and inventors. There were universities and great libraries and scientific laboratories that surpass the wildest inventions of science fiction.
         Of the final world I had only a glimpse. Now we no longer seemed to be on earth, but immensely far away, out of all relation to it. And there, still at a great distance, I saw a city--but a city, if such a thing is conceivable, constructed out of light. At that time I had not read the Book of Revelation, nor, incidentally, anything on the subject of life after death. But here was a city in which the walls, houses, streets, seemed to give off light, while moving among them were beings as blindingly bright as the One who stood beside me. This was only a moment's vision, for the next instant the walls of the little room closed around me, the dazzling light faded, and a strange sleep stole over me....
         To this day, I cannot fully fathom why I was chosen to return to life. All I know is that when I woke up in the hospital bed in that little room, in the familiar world where I'd spent all my life, it was not a homecoming. The cry in my heart at that moment has been the cry in my heart ever since: Jesus, show me Yourself again! It was weeks before I was well enough to leave the hospital, and all that time one thought obsessed me: to get a look at my chart. I did one day when the room was left unattended. There it was in terse* medical shorthand: Private George Ritchie, died December 20, 1943, double pneumonia.
         Later, I talked to the doctor who had signed the report. He told me that there was no doubt in his mind that I had been dead when he examined me, but that nine minutes later the soldier who had been assigned to prepare me for the morgue* had come running to him to ask him to give me a shot of adrenalin*. The doctor gave me a shot of adrenalin directly into the heart muscle, all the while disbelieving what his own eyes were seeing. My return to life, he told me, without brain damage or other lasting effect, was the most baffling circumstance of his career.
         Today, over 25 years later, I thank God that I had the chance to return to this life. And every time I have been able to serve Him by helping some broken-hearted adult, treating some injured child or counseling some teenager, then deep within I know that He is beside me again.

Glossary for Young Readers
         Following are definitions of some of the more difficult words used in this Christian Digest. Meanings given are for the use of the word in the text, and do not include every meaning of the word. Please consult your dictionary for words not listed.

         accost: to come up and speak to; greet
         adrenaline: a hormone, in this case injected into the body to speed up the heartbeat and thereby increase bodily energy and resistance to fatigue
         balmy: mild; gentle; soothing
         benediction: blessing
         blissful: supremely happy; joyful
         congeniality: getting on well together
         contemporary: belonging to the same time period
         convulsive: shaking violently
         coping: top layer of a brick or stone wall
         cull: to pick out; select
         denizen: inhabitant; citizen
         etherealized: to be made celestial, heavenly
         fanciful: imaginative; fantastic
         gossamer: a very thin, light cloth or substance
         guy wire: wire cable which holds up a pole or other vertical structure
         ineffable: too great to be described in words
         inexpressibly: cannot be expressed in words
         inviolate: not violated or profaned
         irresolutely: hesitating; not sure of what you want or unable to make up your mind
         locomotion: movement; power of motion
         ministrations: help; aid; service
         morgue: a place in which the bodies of dead persons are kept until buried
         pall: a heavy cloth spread over a coffin
         palpable: readily seen or heard and recognized; obvious
         prismatic: varied in color; brilliant
         private: a soldier of the lowest rank
         prostrate: lying flat
         prostration: the condition of being worn out or used up in body or mind; exhaustion
         rapt: lost in delight; ecstatic
         recount: to tell in detail; give an account of
         respite: time of relief and rest; lull
         solace: comfort or relief; consolation
         superfluous: excessive; more than is needed or desired
         sward: a grassy surface; turf
         tenement: any house or building to live in (often refers to run-down housing)
         terse: short and to the point
         undulation: wavelike motion or vibration
         unpretentious: modest; making no claims of importance
         vex: worry; distress deeply