90 Minutes in Heaven: A True Story of Death and Life

I didn't just hear music. It seemed as if I were part of the music.

Satan is a liar. He wants to steal our joy and replace it with hopelessness. When we're up against a struggle and we think we can't keep going, we can change that by praising God. Our chains will fall from us. Meese encouraged me by reminding me of the

I refer to them as miracles-although some may call them fortunate circumstances-because I believe there are no accidents or surprises with God.

I had seen my refusal as not wanting to impose; they saw my change as giving them an opportunity to help.

I have absolutely no fear of death. Why would I? There's nothing to fear-only joy to experience.

I woke up to singing and found myself singing too

In trying to be strong for them, I had cheated them out of opportunities to strengthen me. Guilt overwhelmed me, because I could-at last-see their gifts to me. The shame flowed all over me, and I began to cry. This is their ministry, I thought, and I've been spoiling it. I felt such intense shame over not letting them help. When I finally did open up, I witnessed a drastic

That's perhaps the biggest miracle: People prayed and God honored their prayers. As

God had chosen to keep me alive. Even in my worst moments of depression and self-pity, I never forgot that. Christy

Just as it was necessary to reinflate my lungs to overcome pneumonia, I needed the breath of God to help me overcome the depression of my spirit. I

couldn't say it, but I believed then-and still do-that I survived only because a number of people wanted me to. They were relentless, passionate, and desperate, and they believed God would hear them. People prayed for me who had never seriously prayed before; some who hadn't uttered a word of petition in years cried out to God to spare me. My experience brought people to their knees, and many of them had changed in the process of praying for me to live.

He is your God, the one who is worthy of your praise, the one who has done mighty miracles that you yourself have seen.

Some things happen to us from which we never recover, and they disrupt the normalcy of our lives. That's how life is. Human nature has a tendency to try to reconstruct old ways and pick up where we left off. If we're wise, we won't continue to go back to the way things were (we can't anyway). We must instead forget the old standard and accept a 'new normal.

Satan is a liar. He wants to steal our joy and replace it with hopelessness. When we're up against a struggle and we think we can't keep going, we can change that by praising God. Our chains will fall from us. Meese encouraged me by reminding me of the real reason we have for fully living this life. It's to give everything we have to God--even the heartbreaks and pain. God is our reason to live.

None of the hymns that filled the air were about Jesus’ sacrifice or death. I heard no sad songs and instinctively knew that there are no sad songs in heaven.

Just then I realized how badly I had missed the whole idea. I had failed them and myself. In trying to be strong for them, I had cheated them out of opportunities to strengthen me. Guilt overwhelmed me, because I could—at last—see their gifts to me.

As long as I'm here on earth, God still has a purpose for me.

Some may not believe my account; they may think it was some kind of wish fulfillment during a point of severe trauma. I don't have to defend my experience. I know what happened to me. For those of us whose faith is in the reality of heaven, no amount of evidence is necessary.

When we’re up against a struggle and we think we can’t keep going, we can change that by praising God.

sacrificial, you have always been faithful. And

Myriads of sounds so filled my mind and heart that it’s difficult to explain them. The most amazing one, however, was the angels’ wings. I didn’t see them, but the sound was a beautiful, holy melody with a cadence that seemed never to stop. The swishing resounded as if it was a form of never-ending praise. As I listened I simply knew what it was. A second sound remains, even today, the single, most vivid memory I have of my entire heavenly experience. I call it music, but it differed from anything I had ever heard or ever expect to hear on the earth. The melodies of praise filled the atmosphere. The nonstop intensity and endless variety overwhelmed me. The praise was unending, but the most remarkable thing to me was that hundreds of songs were being sung at the same time—all of them worshiping God. As I approached the large, magnificent gate, I heard them from every direction and realized that each voice praised God.

If we played three CDs of praise at the same time, we’d have a cacophony of noise that would drive us crazy. This was totally different. Every sound blended, and each voice or instrument enhanced the others. As strange as it may seem, I could clearly distinguish each song. It sounded as if each hymn of praise was meant for me to hear as I moved inside the gates.

I want to experience everything heaven offers, but most of all, I want to hear those never-ending songs again.

Yet many times I felt terribly alone and was convinced that no one else understood. And I still think that's true. When our pain becomes intense and endures for weeks without relief, no one else really knows. I'm not sure it's worthwhile for them to know what it's like. They care. That's what I think is important.

One of my favorite stories is about a little girl who left her house and her mother didn’t know where she had gone. Once the mother missed her, she worried that something might have happened to her child. She stood on the front porch and yelled her daughter’s name several times. Almost immediately the little girl ran from the house next door. The mother hugged her, said she was worried, and finally asked, “Where have you been?” “I went next door to be with Mr. Smith.” “Why were you over there?” “His wife died and he is very sad.” “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that,” the mother said. “What did you do?” “I just helped him cry.

Yes, I said to myself, there are things I will never be able to do again. I don’t like that and may even hate it, but that doesn’t change the way things are. The sooner I make peace with that fact and accept the way things are, the sooner I’ll be able to live in peace and enjoy my new normalcy.

To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord to those who love him and know him.