I have been trying to reach you these past few months since you left our world for another. Every week I have faithfully written you but have not received any correspondence from you. While I earnestly await your response, I understand you may be busy with other matters or, perhaps, may have no feasible way of replying to me. I have no doubt, however, you are doing well and always keep in your thoughts and prayers the things I have written you about.
I cannot begin to imagine what kind of rejoicing and celebrating there was when you arrived. What kinds of foods did they prepare for the feast? I myself cannot wait to know what celestial meats and pastries and fruits taste like. Perhaps there are sorts of things that are only reserved for your side of reality that do not exist where I am presently. For now, I must settle for bread and wine.
I promised in my last letter (and the letter before that) I would not press you with anymore questions, but my curiosity always seems to get the best of me! Please, friend, indulge me. Where do you live? What is it like? Do you keep a neat space? Is everyone’s share the same or are there the “haves” and the “have-nots”? And what is conversation like? Do you speak to those with whom you associated before or do you speak to men, women and children, born and unborn alike, from every tribe and nation? Does the Apache convert associate with her Puritan sister or the inquisitor with his Jewish neighbor? What do you talk about? Is there speech? What are the music halls and art galleries like, and with what are they filled? What of the conscience and what of knowledge? What of wisdom learned before, and what of those who are not there? Do you sleep? Are there laws and sanctions, and does One-In-Three govern all? Are political and religious ideologies discussed in open-late bars over drinks? Are there drinks? What kind of fashion trends are in heaven? Do people mind their p’s and q’s in public, water their gardens, and balance their checkbooks just the same? I know so little about what it’s like on your side except the glorious promise of the other side’s existence, so I hope you will permit me the liberty of inquiring about it.
I’m sorry. I know I’m getting ahead of myself. I want so much to know what kind of joys you delight in, but if you loved me at all, you won’t give me one peek of what’s inside. Do not attempt to describe the essence of the everlasting, dear friend, should you spoil the surprise. Moreover, do not tarnish the indescribable by trying in any way to fulfill to my current sensibilities, for I would never be able to begin to comprehend and you would never be able to begin to satisfy. Even as I am born from and into one reality of nature that (I think) I know to be true, I am never content to explain away anything with any one person’s philosophy. You may remember with what great difficulty it was to describe music or art or joy or love or beauty. You may not remember, however, with what greater difficulty it was to describe greed or pride or hate or pain or evil. How could I, then, lay on you the responsibility of describing all that you know now to be Truth?
If you aren’t aware, your family writes to you daily. They miss you so very much. I miss you, too. I would not mind if you never responded to me, but why do you ignore your family? Your silence is at once both disturbing and comforting. If you can ever spare a moment, send them a morsel of the peace you relish in now. They need it. If you can spare it, send some for the rest of us here. We all need it.
Continue to pray for me and for all of the world to the Lord, my friend; you are closer to His Ear than we are. Do not worry about us here, for we believe we will see you soon enough. We have the invitations, and someday we’ll have no choice but to deny or take up the offer.