Home

In the twinkling of an eye Folake and Tolu are lined up along with millions of others on either side of a highway of sorts. At least it looks like a highway, except it is paved in perfect white and light-blue marble.

Although there are so many people, the feeling of discomfort that one often gets when one is in a crowded area or a large gathering seems nonexistent. Rather, each person seems to have all the space in the world—and yet there are so many.

There is a distinct air of total freedom about this place—a sense of a new beginning—and yet each and every person in this happy procession feels as though he or she is walking towards something that is strangely familiar, as though heading home. They all know that something or everything has changed—that life will never be the same as it was before. But though they feel elated, none dares to believe or even imagine the unimaginable.

Trumpets are sounding, accompanied by an orchestra of various musical instruments; and a choir that sings like no other—perfect pitch and perfect rhythm.

“Moses, can you see that? Look, look, Moses. It’s so beautiful. What is it?” asks Folake, pointing ahead.

Moses, who has been happily chatting with a new friend, looks up to see what Folake is pointing at.

“I…I can’t say I know to be honest. But you’re right. It is beautiful. Wait…I think I can see a huge gate of some sort.”

“Moses…do you think…I mean, are we…do you think we’re—Is this heaven Moses?” asks Folake.

Moses feels Folake may be right in her thinking but doesn’t dare confirm, in case he wakes up to realise that he has been dreaming. It just seems too good to be true.

The gates are wide open and transparent, as though made of glass. But the gold and sturdy frame suggests another material altogether. There is a bright shining light in the middle, like a figure standing in the doorway. The light that emanates from the figure is so bright and yet so pure that it doesn’t strain or hurt any of the millions of eyes that are now staring at it.

As the procession gets closer to the gates, the identity of the figure in the middle becomes more apparent. Every one of them recognises the figure; they have all met him in some shape or form.

“Folake look, it’s the farmer. Wow! You mean He’s actually…He’s…He’s Jesus! I knew there was something special and amazing about Him.”

“Farmer? What? What are you two talking about?” asks Moses rhetorically. “That’s not a farmer. That’s the old man I bumped into a few days after I lost my parents. He told me how important it is to never give up, even when everything seems so dark and pointless.”

A young boy and his dad are a few steps behind Moses, Tolu, and Folake. The boy has been listening intently to their conversation, but he can no longer restrain himself.

“Er…excuse me…I…I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. You see, I…well, I…I don’t understand how you can call Him an old man. And He’s not a farmer either. He’s about my age. I met Him in the hospital when my mum was sick—just before she went to heaven.” The boy tugs at his father’s hand. “Dad, Dad, he’s the one I told you about. The one who told me that Mum was just going home. Can you remember Dad? You kept asking me if I was all right, and I kept telling you that I was fine and that we shouldn’t feel sad about Mum because she was simply going home. Can you remember Dad?”

“Yes I can. But son, I’m not sure we’re looking at the same person. You see, that’s the gardener who came to do our lawn a few months after your mum passed on. I remember him well because he had such a calmness and assurance about him. I’ll never forget the conversation we had. I think that conversation was what gave me the strength and courage to keep going. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s him son. Not a young boy at all. Do you want me to lift you up so that you can see him better?”

Several paces back, Paul’s eyes are also fixated on the illuminating figure standing between those gates. Although the light is too bright for him to recognise the face, he is comforted by the familiar presence that emanates from it. It is a gentle and warm presence that oozes security and love. He’s felt this before. It’s the same presence he felt around him on that dark night by the roadside, when he came perilously close to throwing it all in. The depth of love and compassion he felt in the early hours of that morning as he trudged along, sickened to the point of wanting to commit suicide after falling once more into the grip of cocaine, was what gave him the hope and strength not to give up on life. This same presence gave him the courage to continue to live.

“Is it you?” he murmurs.

As they walk through the gates, the figure in the middle gives every single individual a silent and personal welcome. The millions who walk through are still unsure of what exactly is happening to them and where exactly they are going. But all are comforted by the presence of the bright and illuminating figure they pass—they experience security, love, relief, and indescribable joy.

Once past the gates, they continue to walk towards what now seem to be two glittering thrones of gold and sapphire. Seated on one of the thrones is another beautiful, shining figure. Again, it is almost impossible to identify a face. The only thing that’s clear to see is the shining gold crown that sits on top of the figure’s head. Although the throne is far away, the writing on the crown is plain to see: Ancient of Days. It now begins to dawn on them that they are walking towards their Maker—walking towards God Himself.

A glow of love, pride, and undiluted joy emanates from the throne.

The Almighty figure speaks.

“This is my Son, in whom I am well pleased. He died for you, in order for you to experience this day—this joy—this eternity of love and peace. This is my Son.”

Instinctively realising that the figure at the gates is none other than Jesus Christ Himself, every man, woman, boy and girl turns around to honour the Son of the only living God—now in His true glory.

The gates slowly close. Jesus stands at the entrance, now adorned in a glowing red, white, and gold robe, and holding a blue, white, and black sceptre in His right hand. His crown, though magnificent in its splendour, has no words inscribed on it. But somehow the words King of Kings—King of Kings—King of Kings continuously emanate from it. His very presence is an awesome and amazing spectacle.

Continuously circling around Him in the air are six seraphim, wings fluttering and heads bowed as they sing, “Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna”—a perfect blend of alto and treble. Their marvelous voices are perfectly complemented by the orchestral genius of six cherubim who are also circling the King of Kings—a distinct harmony of the piano, violin, cello, and harpsichord accompanies every flutter of each of their wings. They, too continuously bow to the King as they perform their never-ending musical extravaganza, with each group of six at times crisscrossing the paths of the others. Above Him are twelve archangels—six on either side—accompanying Him as He makes His procession towards the throne.

The millions prostrate as He passes.

As Jesus approaches His father, the Ancient of Days gets up to walk down the seven steps that lead to the throne. He hugs His son and then takes Him by the hand before walking back up the steps. Once at the top, they turn around to face the millions who are prostrated in worship and adoration.

“On your feet, my children. Welcome home.”

The millions hail the King of Kings.

There is no longer any doubt as to where they are.