Biggest Place on the Map

Last Sunday I walked into church and was greeted by a friend who gently said, “Pam Rimer passed away this morning.” 

My friend Pam

I stared at her. Surely I’d heard incorrectly. 

“What did you say?” 

“Kim, Pam died this morning.” 

“No she did not!” I said. “No, she did NOT!” 

But she did. Suddenly, unexpectedly, at age 50. 

There was a time long ago when the population of Heaven was not personal to me. But now when I think of those I love who are in the presence of Jesus, the list is long, and will only grow longer. Pam’s death brings Heaven close once again. 

Today I read this excerpt from an old booklet a friend gave me, Pell’s Notes, the July 1911 issue:

“You have heard of Brownsville all your life. But Brownsville never meant anything to you until a year ago when a loved one went there to live. Now the mere mention of the name sends the blood rushing to your heart. Brownsville? Why, Brownsville is everything to you now. Before it was a mere name: now it is the biggest place on the map. You pass over the big headlines in the morning paper to find the little news items from Brownsville at the bottom of the column on the last page. Jones died in Brownsville yesterday. They have begun to pave the street in Brownsville. Mrs. Smith, of Brownsville, gave a dinner and your son was there! What an interesting place is Brownsville! And it all came about because a loved one went to Brownsville to live a year ago. 

So you have heard of the other world—the unseen world—all your life, but it never meant anything to you until the other day when a loved one went there to live. And at last heaven is real to you. Before it was a mere name. Now it is the biggest place, the most interesting place on the map of the universe. Every time you hear heaven mentioned the blood goes rushing to your heart. You have a vital connection with heaven now; you feel that you have a part and lot in it. And it is all because your loved one—a part of yourself—has gone there to live. We may talk eloquently about the invisible life, but it is all mere poetry until we go ourselves or until a part of ourselves goes there in the person of a loved one. It takes death to reveal heaven—either our own or the death of one whom love has knitted to us as a part of ourselves.” 

Thank You, Jesus, for preparing heaven for us (John 14:2, 3 ) and providing the way to get there (John 14:6). And thank you, Pam, for pointing us to God and His heaven, through both your life and your death. Meet you in Brownsville!