For the last several years, I’ve been writing a book called Sacred Threads. It’s a weaving of sacred teachings and psychotherapy principles that form a tapestry of practical spirituality.  Mostly, I’ve been writing this book for myself.  I’ve decided to share it now on the interwebs…a bit at a time.

I hope you find it useful.  If so, I hope you will share with others.  Please post comments and share your thoughts and your own journey.  Don’t be shy.  Sometimes, I’ll respond to your posts.  Sometimes, I won’t.  However, I will read every one of them.

My intention is to post a Sacred Threads thread on Sunday, Monday or Tuesday of each week.  So, stay tuned.

COMING HOME TO HEAVEN
“Religion is a journey, not a destination.”
~ Anonymous

When I was young, my parents occasionally left me with my very religious grandparents so they could have a night alone.  Some would call my grandparents fanatics.  Some would call them devoted, depending on who was doing the calling.  Nonetheless, my grandmother singled me out from my brothers and sister.  She implored me, as a young child of four or five, to “save” my parents so they could go to heaven.  She insisted that they had to accept Christ as their savior, “It’s the only way.”

I was terrified of her late night stories of hell-fire and damnation.  My eyes grew wide with her descriptions of the desperation of those poor souls doomed to eternal hell.  She was convinced that my parents were sure to be among the doomed.  In spite of my fear, I was convinced my grandmother was a little bonkers.

When Grandmama was finally fast asleep, I crept to the big black phone with the heavy handset and called my mother.  It seemed to take the strength of an Amazonian goddess to dial each number.  When finally she answered, my mother soothed me with her loving and calm voice.  With infinite patience, she told me to look at my hand and remember hers.  She would then tell me a story that she had told me many times to assuage my fears and soothe my troubled heart.

“Do you see how many fingers you have?”  In the quiet dark, I could feel her voice wrap around me like her strong loving arms.
“Mmm hmm,” I mumbled.

She told me to trace each finger all the way up my arm and down to the center of my chest, “That’s where your heart is and that’s where heaven is.  And even though your grandmother may be taking the index finger to heaven, I may take a whole different finger, and your dad, he may take the ring finger all the way to heaven.  These fingers of ours are like all of the different roads to heaven.”  I could feel the soft touch of her fingers tracing the veins in my hand and up my arms as her sweet voice filled the quiet dark.

“And you,” she went on, “you may take your very own way, different from mine and different from your Grandmama’s.  You may take the pinky finger road all the way to heaven.”   She reminded me that Grandmama loved God very much and only wanted to be sure that we were all going to heaven.  She talked about how maybe there were just so many trees on Grandmama’s road to heaven that she just could not see the other roads to knowing and loving God.    She couldn’t see that there are other roads to heaven.  Grandmama only knew her road.

My grandmother’s fear and my mother’s love continuously kindled in me a burning desire to know God, to love God, to reach heaven.  Throughout my youth, my mother took me to whatever church I wanted to attend.  While living in Turkey, she took me to mosques and helped me learn about Islam.  While living in the southeastern United States, she took me to evangelical and Baptist churches.  My mom reminded me that God was more than a church and a religion.  Throughout my youth, she supported and encouraged my questioning and my desire to know God.

My mother’s wisdom convinced me that Heaven lie in our own hearts, ever-present, ever-available.  It shows up as peace, love and joy.  And, it’s attainable as a steady state.