When alive, I had always wondered if I would see those pearly gates supposedly protecting the entrance to Heaven.
I had successfully travelled through the tunnel, that long winding laneway with enticing radiant lights that beckoned like a glowing pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Surprisingly, the gates were there, gleaming white, spread wide. They weren’t formed of pearls but were inviting nonetheless, like the proverbial white picket fence. Of course, special permission had to be granted to approach. God doesn’t allow just anyone to enter His kingdom; one has to be good and worthy.
I was met at that mythical gold pot by a gentleman in a long, flowing robe. White, of course. Everything in Heaven, I discovered, was embraced in white.
After settling into my new home, I answered the
