I was about to console myself with the thought that surely this endearing place could not be hell, when an alarming possibility shattered any complacency. If I had somehow failed one test and been evicted, could I now face another test with the possibility of being catapulted from here as well? What if I were being subjected to a series of tests that starts at the top and keeps taking me lower and lower until I eventually find the level at which I will remain for all eternity? How far could I fall? Could part of the consequences of failing be that I will have to spend forever remembering the glories of the places of which I was deemed unworthy?

Is this heresy? I asked myself. The details are certainly extra-biblical. That was a little comforting. I could not evade the fact, however, that the Bible seems to indicate varying degrees of reward in the next life.

I have a confession to make: I’m odd. I had been taught from an early age that nothing is nearly as important as one’s spiritual destiny and that no book is as spiritually valuable as the Christian Bible. With this as the driving force in my life, guess what I kept studying as if my life depended on it, year after year.

Prior to things going haywire, I had been convinced that although it is too late after death to change one’s eternal destiny, those who are still on earth can always repent and receive divine forgiveness, no matter how far gone they seem. But everything kept screaming I was no longer on earth!

I began these experiences with a strong set of beliefs. Now my life-long confidence (arrogance?) was beginning to erode. Can you imagine anyone being wrong about absolutely everything? I can’t. None of us have all truth but all of us have some truth. So even at this stage there were things I was right about. Nevertheless, I was yet to discover how misguided some of my beliefs were. Nor did I realize that each time I find an error in my beliefs is like finding a new foothold when scaling a cliff face.

Despite often finding Bible reading a hard slog, numberless things about it have captured me throughout my life. High on the list is that it stresses that, to an extent that puts countless Christians to shame, the terrifyingly holy Lord is far more compassionate toward those we all denounce as despicably evil, and is far less impressed than us by those of us who think ourselves good. The God of the Bible is eager to forgive those who anger him, and quick to accept those we imagine he would have given up on. Self-righteous goodie-goodies turn his stomach but the very people they despise have a special place in his heart.

The Bible brims with people who had seemed utterly damned by God and yet God relented when they repented. Not only was Rahab a prostitute, she belonged to a tribe that was so corrupt that the Lord insisted that every member of it must be eradicated. She was not just spared but, like Mary, was divinely chosen for the honor of being an ancestress of the Messiah. Appendix 1 confirms that the Messiah’s ancestry is filled with still greater scandals. Not only is the Bible so honest that it refuses to cover them up, it highlights them.

I was multi-tasking as I walked. While occasionally ensuring I did not lose sight of my fluffy travel guide, my mind filled with deep matters. That should have kept me somber but the beauty of this exotic place kept lifting me.

As my eyes kept flitting from one wonder to the next, I became increasingly aware of the light. There was something peculiar about it that I couldn’t quite figure. Even underneath the dense foliage of those ancient trees, exquisite flowers grew. A thought seized me. I looked on the ground behind me, then turned full circle, scanning the ground. I even looked under my feet. That’s strange.

In a flash of panic I touched my stomach, chest and face. “Seems solid enough,” I said aloud in relief. But what if even my hand isn’t solid? What if that’s just the feel of two non-solid objects touching? Surely not!

I hunted for a rock and lifted it just a little. It was comforting to be able to lift something solid but that was not my purpose. I looked underneath it, relieved. It was not just my body that was not casting shadows. But this raised more questions. The light is bright and yet there are no shadows! Not multiple shadows, not vague shadows – nothing! I looked at all the open sky I could find. I glanced under bushes and in trees. Where is the light coming from? I pondered the problem for a couple of seconds. Is the light in the air? Is everything its own light source? What is this place?

Just then a breeze sprang up, but what a breeze! It swirled and twirled and almost seemed alive. It seemed almost to be playing, or maybe dancing, and the leaves of the trees seemed to respond as if they were enjoying it – as if they were being massaged or lightly tickled. I nearly expected them to giggle in delight.

I reprimanded myself. Pull yourself together! Who’d have thought you’d be guilty of anthropomorphism! Ah, anthropomorphism – attributing human characteristics to nonhumans. My mind flashed through the years to the Behavioral Science lecture in which I was first introduced to that word and to the silliness that unscientific people fall into. Now the very word seemed comforting. Of course! That’s it! I’m in an alien environment. Things are different here. I had momentarily lost my objectivity but now I’m back on track! Hey . . . ‘track . . !’ I finally remembered how I had arrived at this part of the forest. I looked along the trail, and sure enough, the little animal was still there. Its head cocked to one side, it stared at me through its big eyes. It appeared to be waiting for me.

Is it my imagination, or are animals more intelligent here? I wasn’t silly enough to expect one to talk to me, or solve a mathematical problem. They just seemed somehow more perceptive. Was I fooling myself or did they actually have a greater awareness of my emotions than I would ever expect of an animal? Is it merely something about their features that gives an illusion of intelligence? I asked myself.

I was coming up with few answers, but stretching my mind in this way was reassuring. I seemed to be acting a little saner than when I first began to worry about the possible hallucinogenic effects of spider venom.

I was about to follow the creature, when I noticed the rock I had moved. Everything around seemed so perfectly ordered that a single rock moved a fraction from its original position seemed oddly out of place. I felt compelled to go to that rock and almost guiltily return it to the exact place where it had originally been before I had lifted it. The surprising thing is that I am the most untidy person I know. You should see my house!

(Just as an aside to those who accuse me of being obsessive: my housekeeping is proof that I’m not. Others might obsess about keeping things in order. Not me. I’ll never waste precious time by trying to be tidy. In fact, I’m obsessive about it. Let’s move on before I think too much about that.)

Having completed my out-of-character act, I left the rock and headed for the creature. That cute little animal was certainly acting as if it wanted me to follow. Even putting aside that foolish interpretation of animal behavior, what wild creature would know what would interest a human anyway? Nevertheless, not having a better plan, I continued to follow him, her or it (to assume these creatures reproduced sexually would have been presumptuous).

For simplicity, I am tempted to refer to this animal as ‘it’ but that feels dishonest. The truth is that, whereas the obvious intelligence of the humanoids I had seen made the impersonal pronoun seem inappropriate, it was more complicated with this critter. Since my respect for science was such that I considered myself above attributing to animals such human qualities as personality, the impersonal pronoun started off as the obvious choice. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, however, that the longer I was with this critter, the more my resistance to the personal pronoun eroded. Despite the inconsistency, it seems more accurate to reflect this in my word usage.

I found myself rapt in joyous wonder. Almost every step revealed still more flora, fauna and vistas captivatingly different from anything on earth. Despite this continual distraction, however, my mind slid back to that ethereal palace. As unforgettable and astounding as the sensory pleasures had been, my thoughts kept returning, like flies to stench, to my inglorious expulsion from what had almost felt like a sacred place. Even in the pristine world I was now privileged to be enjoying, the gloom of failure hung over me, soiling what should have been perfection. Still more disturbing was not knowing what I had done that was apparently so offensive.

I thought of the G-forces and motion sickness that astronauts endure. There is simply no alternative if they are to leave earth. Maybe I have done nothing wrong. Perhaps that abrupt end and scary ride out of there was the only way to be transported to this exquisite place. I longed to convince myself but no matter how much I tried, it still felt disconcertingly like failure.

As I groped for comfort, I thought of Jonah. A Bible obsession might make me peculiar but there are even normal people who have heard of him. That sourpuss was down in the mouth (and into the stomach of a monster from the deep) over his initial refusal to honor God by preaching to his nation’s ferocious enemies, whom Jonah regarded as exceptionally wicked. Scripture calls him not an evangelist (someone used of God to rescue people from damnation) but a prophet (2 Kings 14:25; Matthew 12:39). His entire God-given prophesy was, “In forty days Nineveh will be destroyed”. What happened to God’s prophecy? The Lord let his own prophesy be ruined. As Jonah had feared, simply because they repented, the Almighty refused to execute justice on the enemy of God’s people. It infuriated the prophet. But it delighted God.

I could go on and on, as well as explaining how even the unpardonable sin remains unforgiveable only until the offender changes his assessment of Jesus. (How could anyone be saved while believing his Savior is of the devil?)

Consider Paul doing his darnedest to exterminate the entire church in its vulnerable infancy and forever eradicate Christianity from the entire planet. Christians would have voted him the person they least liked and least likely to be acclaimed as the greatest-ever apostle. God thought differently. Could this possibly illustrate the gulf separating God’s heart from how millions of Christians see things? Of particular note, is that when persecuting Christians, this divinely chosen apostle must surely have accepted the standard pharisaical line about Jesus being of the devil. Many would have written him off as eternally damned. But not God.

I looked up and was shocked to see a gigantic, hairy quadruped blocking the way. Its rump alone was higher than me and its head towered higher still. Before I had a chance to assess the danger, the creature I had been following took a flying leap onto a low tree branch. The instant it landed, it was off again like a ricocheting bullet, bounding higher still in a new direction. It landed on the animal’s bluish back, then snuggled contentedly into the blond, almost golden, hair on the giant’s thick neck.

The quadruped began slowly walking in the direction we had been going, with its rider seeming to thoroughly enjoy it. The little one looked around and, as if trying to communicate with me, chattered in the most endearing, though incomprehensible, manner.

Then the beast stopped. As I tentatively drew a little closer, it crouched so low that the top of its back was level with my chest. The critter, that on this hulk looked smaller than ever, kept chattering and gesturing as if it had something important to tell me. I guess it is ridiculous but the little one seemed to want me to join it on the beast’s back.

Anyone acquainted with grizzly and polar bear ferocity might be shocked that at this point I had hardly noticed that this oversized quadruped bore certain similarities to a monstrous bear. I’m from the corner of the planet where attacks by killer sharks and crocodiles grab headlines and impact the reader’s psyche. It seems, however, I grew up without enough scary tales about bears reaching me to inject appropriate fear into me.

No matter how non-aggressive I imagined this colossal lifeform to be, however, I at least had the sense to realize it could still unintentionally injure me if startled. Standing as far away as I could, I stretched out my arm and gingerly placed my hand on its side.

What happened next I can neither describe nor explain. As much as that first touch flooded me with a longing to savor its astonishingly silky hair, that sensation was eclipsed by a far more profound and unexpected experience. I was overwhelmed by a mysterious connection with a creature that was obviously many times my strength. It was as if its strength became my strength and its confidence became mine. My fears melted so utterly that I felt an almost overwhelming urge to sit on its back.

Even when crouched down, however, it was more like a mammoth than anything climbable and its silky hair was slippery. With no stirrup and no one to give me a leg up, plus feeling the need to be gentle, this was not going to be easy. Could I find some rocks, or even break off small branches, to drag close to its side and construct something to climb on? Dare I attempt such a violation of this pristine environment? Despite being excited about human space exploration, I thought of all the space junk circling earth, and how humans have already littered the moon and planets and even messed with asteroids.

Before I could begin formulating a plan I was comfortable with, the little one suddenly jumped down, somehow grabbed my legs and the next thing I knew I was perched on top of the beast. To this day, I remain unsure of exactly how it happened. Clearly, however, that little one was far stronger than I ever imagined. I was still in shock when this amazing critter further surprised me by leaping up and joining me.

While still wondering how this would end, an inexplicable feeling of warm confidence in this beast grew. With my legs pressed against its mighty body, the baffling connection I felt with this colossal animal intensified.

It was obviously strong enough to carry me. Whether it could heave itself into a standing position with my extra weight was another matter. If it bolted, or even jolted, I would surely slip off and most likely end up injured. With the precise statistics perhaps mercifully eluding my memory, I recalled my surprise when first learning how dangerous horse riding was in the era before cars. I had no helmet. I could hardly call an ambulance if needed. Why on earth . . . ? I was immediately annoyed at using that expression. Why am I taking such a risk?

Once I was settled on its back, the massive beast began to lift itself. I felt the slightest apprehension at first but its movement was so gradual that all concern evaporated and the sublime connection I felt with this gentle giant kept building. I marveled at how it kept its back perfectly horizontal as it raised itself.

Upon reaching its full height, it remained motionless, as if giving me the chance to settle my nerves. Then, in a peculiar gait, it began creeping forward, placing each oversized padded paw in a way that eliminated the slightest noise or jolt. The motion was beautifully soothing, even as it slowly picked up pace until moving at least twice my normal walking pace. More than ever, it felt as if its powerful muscles and sure-footedness were mine and that this sensitive creature would respond to my every wish.

From this living lookout, the views seemed even more stunning. Was it, as I initially presumed, the increased height, or was it the exhilaration of an utterly unexpected bond with the massive creature so gently carrying me?

To say more is to stray so far from science that you have every right to dismiss it as a delusion. Nevertheless, it affected me so deeply that it would be remiss of me to omit it. The inexplicable connection I felt with this exotic animal combined with its gentleness to give the impression that I was being treated reverently. Delusion or not, it felt as if this creature regarded me as so important that it was a priceless privilege to serve me. This, in turn, filled me with awe and further magnified the unique tenderness I felt toward this creature.

Amazingly soon, however, my thoughts reverted to spiritual concerns. The worry was that as much as I enjoyed reminding myself of the astonishing lengths to which divine acceptance stretches, the Bible is equally adamant that after death or Judgement Day, everything changes (see Appendix 2).

As surely as none of us has been perfect, we all stand equally in need of divine pardon. Should, however, we die refusing that pardon, content to face the consequences without seeking divine intervention, our choice will last for all eternity.

All of us teeter little more than a heartbeat from Judgment Day. Then all evil will be eradicated, including everyone who has not sought God’s pardon before that cataclysmic day. If we miss the last rescue plane, the result is the same whether or not we see ourselves as respectable, and whether we miss by milliseconds or by years.

I’m too scared of boring you to detail everything that made me certain of this. My confusion, however, was that if, as preposterous as it seemed, I had actually been in heaven, and even now was not on earth, would certain principles that apply only to the period of grace before death work in my current situation? Part of me wanted to scream that they could not. On the other hand, they might still apply if I had not died and will return to living on earth before the Final Judgment. Tangling with so many unknowns is the stuff of migraines.

I was also perplexed as to whether my wild theory about tests had the slightest merit. Instead of prayerfully puzzling over it or, better still, seeking to spiritually prepare for any possible test, I recklessly tried to thrust it from my mind and let myself be distracted by my fascinatingly gorgeous surroundings. I now shudder to realize that I took that course while having no idea if doing so was safe or whether this was the most critical moment in my existence and if my entire eternity hinged on my preparation.

Not only don’t I know why I let myself do it, I don’t even know how it was possible to push that worry out of my head. I don’t like to boast but worrying is usually something I excel at. You might even call me an over-achiever.

It was as if I were lulled into complacency by the wonder and beauty of this place. Despite me having no certainty that it was not deceptive, this otherworldly forest seemed to radiate a warm coziness and security that I had never imagined any wilderness could have. Even harder to explain – and avoid confinement in a psychiatric ward – is that I seemed to detect something peculiar about this forest. What I sensed was so far beyond the purely rational that I can only try my pathetic but best attempt to put it into words and hide in shame. Here it is: the entire place seemed to have an aura of innocence about it. You might understand a little about how the friendliness and cuteness of all the animals might be slightly suggestive of this but somehow even the rocks and vegetation seemed to add to it.

The trail had turned out to be a network of tracks, possibly made by animals. Whenever options appeared, either animal would choose without hesitation. As I think back, I wonder if the giant beneath us were making its own decisions, or if the little one beside me were somehow guiding it. Whatever the process, the chosen route had grown quite steep but the powerful animal supporting me almost glided up it. We turned a bend and froze. As I somehow expected, it was a combined effort. I was startled, and in perfect unison, the creature that somehow felt part of me stopped in its tracks and became a living elevator, lowering me as smoothly and silently as it had been propelling me forward.

Ahead, apparently unaware of our approach, was a man, looking rather like an Arabian in traditional dress, sitting on the ground under a tree. That was about as expected as a penguin in the Sahara. What’s he doing here? I asked myself, as if my own presence in this place were perfectly understandable.

The stranger seemed deep in thought. “I don’t know . . .” he sighed dejectedly.

I was still engaged in an animated internal debate about making myself known when I spotted in the distance a nonhuman biped walking toward him. I deliberately slid off the now fully crouched animal. The instant I separated from the creature, I felt different. Thankfully, it was not debilitating but more like the momentary heaviness and loss felt when heaving oneself out of a deep, warm bath.

I suspect the furry little one who had enticed me here remained with me but my attention was riveted elsewhere. I ducked behind the mercifully thick vegetation and sneaked a glance at the still distant alien. Depth perception is challenging in an environment so exotic that not only the lifeforms but even the light is different. Nevertheless, the biped seemed huge. I was glad to be hidden but would the presence of a crouching animal right on the trail close by draw attention to me? And what about the man, who seemed oblivious to everything around him? Should I warn him?