How Would I Know? by Debra Jo Myers

As I write this, Easter is near. It makes me remember my mom getting me up on that Sunday morning, and putting on my new dress, shoes, and hat for church.  After we had a big dinner at Aunt Sue’s with my cousins. My favorite part was the Easter egg hunt! Uncle Ron would hide dozens of eggs outside with candy and change inside. One gold egg had a $1 bill, so we all tried to find it first. I didn’t understand what Easter really signified. Some years it was the only time we went to church. It wasn’t because Mom didn’t want to or didn’t believe. I think it was because by Sunday, all she wanted was rest. When we went to church, it was First Baptist. I remember my mom sometimes said a prayer before dinner, and she did tell us to say our prayers before bedtime. I would ask God to take care of us, give us food and shelter, and take care of sick people.

When we’re young, we don’t have control over our religious actions or beliefs. They come from parents, grandparents, siblings, teachers…and the church itself. I had a children’s Bible with stories I liked to read, but honestly, I thought they were just stories. They talked about heaven too. I thought they were make-believe stories like my other books were. 

One Easter when I was in third grade, we got baskets of candy at school from our teacher. She told us we couldn’t eat any until we got home. As we were leaving, I was sneaking to open up my ring pop. A boy leaned up and whispered to me “If you eat that now, you will go to H-E double hockey sticks!” I knew that was a bad word, and I told him so. He said it wasn’t a bad word, it was where the devil lived. He said he was going to heaven to be with God, because he was going to do what the teacher said. Walking the nine blocks home to my house sucking on my ring pop, I started wondering if I was really going to H-E double hockey sticks. I don’t think I understood God at all, but that night I prayed.  I said I was sorry for eating my ring pop before I got home. I asked God to let me go to heaven.

As I got older, I heard and read more about God and heaven. When I was twelve, I went to a weekend camp sponsored by the church. It was there that I learned that you either believed or you didn’t believe. I was a smart kid, so I was intrigued to figure out which category I fit in. There was a girl at camp I knew in middle school, Denise. When it came to religion, she seemed to know more than any of my friends. I didn’t know her well, but she wanted to help me. She said she loved spreading the "word of God."

Denise told me I would get messages from heaven from loved ones who had died and gone there. She told me stories about messages she’d received from her great grandma, June. My Pawpaw had never sent me a message. He was the only person close to me who had died then. Denise said I needed to believe the Bible was true. She told me if I went to church every Sunday, I would be a believer. As I mentioned, I was inquisitive. I needed to do research, to get facts about God, Jesus, heaven and hell, miracles, and these messages.

I learned religion is based on faith. Parts of the bible can’t be proven. To have proof that God exists, you have to BE God. Denise had been right and wrong. The bible may not all be factual since it a combination of 66 books written about hundreds of people. There are parts that are actual historical events. Others contain what can be described as symbolic, yet they teach love and faith. After asking questions without definitive answers, I spent the next decade confused, not willing to commit, and unsure what I believed.  

It was after my dad, Ernie, died suddenly of a heart attack when I was 26, that I felt compelled to learn more about heaven and hell. He was only 48. We didn’t have much of a relationship after he and mom divorced when I was young. I was struggling with why he had to die just when I had reconnected with him. Two weeks earlier, he’d met my two daughters for the first time. But I didn’t remember him ever going to church. I don’t think I ever heard him talk about God or faith.

Friends at his funeral said they were praying for me, and that Dad was in a better place. The preacher giving the sermon didn’t know my dad. I listened closely as he talked about life after death in heaven with God. I was afraid. As horrible as it is to say, I wasn’t sure if my dad was in heaven. But what was the alternative? Surely, he wasn’t in hell. It seems that death is as mysterious as life can be.

I wanted to be a believer. I wanted the facts and the lessons. I got a Living Bible and started reading. I became hooked on finding answers to my questions through its words. I was working full-time and raising three children, but each night I read and prayed.

At 36, I got my first "Message from Heaven." I was in the kitchen cleaning up supper. My seven-year-old son, Derek, randomly asked me about my dad. I rarely talked to my children about him, especially Derek, since he died before he was born. I began telling him about his grandpa Ernie. I left out that my dad was an alcoholic, that he’d spent time in prison, and that I hardly knew him. What I did tell him were the great things about Grandpa.

Derek loved basketball. My dad was a star in high school. He held the free throw record for twenty years. My dad played with us whenever he was home. He got down on his hands and knees and gave us horseback rides. We went to his softball games. He got hot dogs and popcorn for us while we watched. He liked to tease mom and scare her, so she’d scream, and we’d laugh. Derek loved hearing the stories, and afterwards he went outside to tell his friends about his grandpa Ernie.   

Back at the kitchen sink, I looked out the window. There it was. My first message from heaven. I had never seen a caterpillar climbing up this window. How did I know it was a message from heaven? Whenever my dad would find caterpillars in our backyard, he brought them inside for us to see and feel. There it was. My message. My dad must be in heaven. It was the first of many more to follow. I am no longer confused or uncommitted. I have to admit there are still times when doubt creeps in, but I have faith. I am a believer, not because of facts. Because of "Messages from Heaven."