Just before dawn on August 4, 2014, a cool breeze blew through the house. It brushed across the sheets, ruffled your hair, but did not wake you. It spoke into your ear, calling your name: "Margaret, Margaret, Jesus loves you."
You smiled in your sleep; the fear you felt the day before subsided and your face relaxed. Yes you loved them, all of them, with the kind of love that only saints know, unconditional, infinite. That love would never die.
A door opened up in the corner of the room, as big as you needed. You blew a kiss to your family, to all humanity, and ascended. In the morning, they found your body but you were gone.
You smiled in your sleep; the fear you felt the day before subsided and your face relaxed. Yes you loved them, all of them, with the kind of love that only saints know, unconditional, infinite. That love would never die.
A door opened up in the corner of the room, as big as you needed. You blew a kiss to your family, to all humanity, and ascended. In the morning, they found your body but you were gone.
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