What the Devil Doesn’t Want Us to Know

The Devil encourages us to cling to this life with a ferociousness capable of hurting, maiming, or even killing others. Even if we aren’t harming others to survive, we are praying fiercely to preserve our lives and those we love.

God answers our pleas to heal and protect, but selectively. Not everyone wins the heavenly lottery. We mourn for ourselves and for them. They will miss the family gatherings, watching loved ones grow, sunsets and sunrises, walks along the beach, Christmas and the Fourth of July. 

Or will they?

Last Christmas, God granted me a vision. As our pastor read the Gospel, I saw angels surrounding him with Jesus in their midst. The Church disappeared, replaced by my living room. I lay on the floor, dying. Jesus took my hand, lifted my spirit from my body, and with his arm around me, escorted me into Paradise.

I cannot describe what I saw, except to say there are wonders beyond our earthly senses waiting for us. 

With each exclamation of delight, Jesus responded with the same enthusiasm, much as a parent or older brother showing marvels to a younger sibling. 

The Devil doesn’t want me to remember that.

He prefers I worry and fret, believing there is nothing better than this flawed, sorrowful life, and I am an unredeemed, lost soul.

But I am saved, and I need not fear death and what waits for me beyond this life. God has prepared wonders beyond words to describe them. 

When a death occurs, I mourn for the ones left behind, suffering with the physical and emotional pain of separation.

But that’s not where it ends, as the Devil wants us to believe.

The separation is temporary, and our loved ones are not missing out - or suffering.

Accepting their absence does not mean I won’t continue to miss them, but rather than desiring they come back to earth, I will look forward to joining them. After all, God doesn’t want me to live in fear.

The Devil may not want me to know that, but God certainly does, and He will step in with compassionate encouragement through a scripture passage, a word from a friend, or a vision — and sometimes even a miracle.