Letters to Heaven: Reaching Across to the Great Beyond

Overview

Inspiration to make your earthly experience more heavenly... Have you ever felt a sense of unfinished business with those who have preceded you into eternity? Ever wished you could have even a few minutes to articulate your love and appreciation for their impact on your life? In Letters to Heaven, best-selling author Calvin Miller inspires us all to say what we haven’t yet said to those who brought a brightness to our lives or challenged us to live more fully through their own. In these touching, provocative, and...

See more details below
Audiobook (CD - Library)
$31.49
BN.com price
(Save 10%)$34.99 List Price
Sending request ...

Overview

Inspiration to make your earthly experience more heavenly... Have you ever felt a sense of unfinished business with those who have preceded you into eternity? Ever wished you could have even a few minutes to articulate your love and appreciation for their impact on your life? In Letters to Heaven, best-selling author Calvin Miller inspires us all to say what we haven’t yet said to those who brought a brightness to our lives or challenged us to live more fully through their own. In these touching, provocative, and uplifting letters, he poignantly and personally remembers legends such as Johnny Cash, C. S. Lewis, and Farrah Fawcett, along with close friends, family members, and others who influenced him along the way. Even more, he offers timely perspective for each of us, showing us how to live and love now—-mindful that eternity is only a step away. These moving tributes are not only compelling reminders to speak our words of gratitude while there is still time. They also combine beautiful lessons for this life with uplifting promises for the next.

Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781609813901
  • Publisher: Oasis Audio
  • Publication date: 2/7/2012
  • Format: CD
  • Edition description: Library
  • Product dimensions: 6.70 (w) x 6.50 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Calvin Miller is a best-selling author with nearly four million books in print. Praised by such well-known voices as Max Lucado and Eugene Peterson, Miller speaks all over the world and is a former pastor and professor of preaching and pastoral ministry at Samford University’s Beeson Divinity School. He and his wife make their home in Birmingham, Alabama.
Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

Letters to Heaven

Reaching Beyond the Great Divide


By Calvin Miller

WORTHY PUBLISHING

Copyright © 2011 Calvin Miller
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61795-047-6



CHAPTER 1

MEETING MAMA'S GOD

Mama loved ... the God on whom a desperate mother might call when she was out of ideas on how to hold her world together.

* * *

C. M., Life Is Mostly Edges


ETHEL MILLER

Who can tell all the reasons mothers love their sons? Maybe it was because I was the little boy bewildered by your divorce in 1941. Or perhaps because a child gives his mother an important reason to be when the world caves in and she finds herself all alone facing an uncertain future.

There is no question; I have always been a mama's boy. It was hard not to magnify your role in the survival of our family of nine, especially during the World War II years. By the end of those years, I was a convert to Christianity as a nine-year-old boy. And then came junior high and high school, college and then graduate school, and then the Christian ministry as a pastor of a very large church. Somewhere in this mini-history of my life, I found your undeserved esteem for me one of the most rewarding assets of my being.

But I was never much at ease with the way I felt your pride in my education and career. It might have been that I was the first of your children to earn a college degree. It might have been the fact that I became the pastor of a relatively large church. But at each successive milestone and each new step of my career, I found you quietly proud of me as though I had arrived at each of those plateaus on my own, a self-made man.

The truth is, I am not. I never told you—at least not often enough to make you believe it—that there were only two forces behind any excellence I ever attained. The first was Jesus! I am not just saying this to sound humble or religious. From the time I was little, my own insecurity in the world caused me to want to trust in God. I was not a brave teenager. I was not a forthright athlete, confident I could achieve anything. Somehow I felt that unless I could become a partner with God, I would never make it. I lacked the strength to believe in myself, and as a result I increasingly turned to God for strength and confidence. With Christ, I managed to keep my eye on the ball; my desire to please him with my life, I am sure, pushed me into any arena of esteem I ever received.

The second force, Mama, was you. I have a feeling that mothers get so used to serving their families in their workaday worlds that they never see the power of their influence. The best teaching isn't done in formal classes that begin and end with the flow of terms and semesters. There are no credit courses that start with diapers and culminate in high-school diplomas. It's the steadiness of motherhood that makes the point: the lullabies that mothers rarely see as music or the endless washing of little faces that the best of mothers never call hygiene. The Q-and-A proceeding from "Why?" and "But why?" that mothers never call Education 101. The correction for bad language that mothers rarely call ethics. All these things are the most important part of our education.

Mama, when you read A Christmas Carol to us, you never called it English Lit. It was just together time. When you read the paper, it was never Current Events. When you explained why you were a Democrat, we never called it American Government. When you went to vote, you never called it Civics. But bit by bit we were putting together a worldview, all under the most careful eye of a great moralist and Christian—only it never came across that way.

Now I can see that my life for these past seventy-some years was the product of that special relationship I found in Jesus and yourself. And what I liked best about it was that you never resented Jesus for the special place he held as Master of my life.

I will never forget the time I came home from that pentecostal revival and announced, "I've been saved!" My exuberance must have amused you, and yet you saw the moment as the most important of my life. I was never casual about Jesus. I wanted to know what he thought about me, about my moral choices, about the ultimate direction of my life.

The same went for you, Mama. I cared about what you thought about where I wanted to go, what I wanted to be. When I told you I was going to a Baptist college in Oklahoma, you seemed excited about the dream. It was one of the most expensive private schools in the state, yet you seemed pleased that I had the dream, and you knew that it emanated from the Christ who occupied the center of my intention.

Well, you've been in heaven with Christ for thirty-three years now, and I can see that I am on my way there too. But I wanted to send this letter on ahead to set up our coming reunion. I want to begin heaven a little more realistically than I lived things out down here. I don't see how Jesus will have the kind of time I want to spend with the both of you. Still, if you can arrange for the three of us to meet, it would make a great beginning of our time together.

I wrote a good bit of poetry on your mentoring life, but alas, only after you were gone. One poem comes to mind even now.

To Mama and Jesus,
You and He,
You gave me life and He extended it.
You saved me from the cold and He from sin.
You taught me hope and He defended it.
From you I once was born ... from Him again.
You let me skip in fields that He had made.
He bid me bless the loaves you baked for me.
You ordered me to gaze where once He lay.
He bid me kneel in your Gethsemane.
I owe you both the treasure of my art.
I myself am so saddled with this debt
That I cannot fail in paying every part
Lest I should leave this pair with one regret.
You, Mother, taught me how to love a King.
In both of you was hidden everything.


Mama, you live in a higher realm of poetry than I could ever write. But if you will, please show that poem to Jesus. I think he'd be as interested in it as you. You both seemed to love me so.

CHAPTER 2

TO A MAN WHOSE GOD WAS ON THE GRIDIRON

The gods assemble on the gridiron To sanctify Sunday for men grown weary of church.

* * *

James Kavanaugh, "The Football Game"


ED PATTISSON

You went to heaven from a ringside seat, close up, at the fifty-yard line.

At least I hope you went to heaven. The only reason I have my doubts is that you never had much of an appetite for heaven. And frankly, Ed, I have long wondered if anyone who has not the slightest desire to go to heaven can ever end up there. But I am hoping you get this letter because I know if you do, then (by this time) you will have changed your mind about the place.

I will never forget the day you died. Your family wanted me to visit you in the hospital and talk to you about making a last confession and, as we evangelicals are wont to say, to accept Christ as your Savior. It was a great attempt, the last hurrah, the hope of your family that in your final moments of life you might declare yourself for God and make some kind of confession that you were embracing the faith. It was not my only time to seek this confession from you. I had done so many times, always at your family's prodding, but all to no avail.

In every seminar I ever attended on how to lead someone to Christ—and in every one I ever taught—I was always told to get to know the prospective Christian and then press upon him or her the good confession. But I had talked with you so often that I felt I already had really gotten to know you. I knew you had one great love in life, and it wasn't God. It was Nebraska football! You knew the names and numbers of all the players as well as I knew the name of all the apostles.

Obviously, we came at life from two different priority points. Coach Tom Osborne was your infallible guide to meaning. I picked Jesus of Nazareth.

From the very first, we each considered the other a dull conversationalist. You probably didn't answer the door when I stopped by because you saw me as a pushy Baptist who was gonna "talk Jesus" at you. Meanwhile, I didn't really want to come by because I thought you were the most off-the-track, football-fanatical cancer victim that ever existed. You couldn't understand why anyone could actually love God so much if he forbade them any real interest in sports. You were much more fluent in profanity than I was, and I think you heaped up your argument with four-letter words that you knew would nettle me—perhaps to the extent I would quit coming by. And I would have, except that your family was so anxious for you to become a Christian before you died, no matter that you had no real interest in Jesus.

During your final week of life, they asked me to make one more attempt. I understood that their greatest desire was a goal of your least interest. Yet as I had before, I geared myself up and went to the hospital where you would remain until your death.

As usual, you greeted me with contempt.

I would have preferred you saying hello when we met, rather than "Oh #*~#, not you again!"

"Hello, my good friend, how are you?"

"Now why would you say that, #*~#? I'm not your good friend. I don't even like you."

"The doc says you're not doing well," I said. "Thought we might have a little talk."

"I know what you want to talk about! My kids think I'm on the way to hell! And I probably am, but I'd sure like a little peace and quiet along the way. I know I could never talk you out of it, seeing you are determined to carve another notch in your Bible. So I'm gonna shut up and listen. I haven't got the strength to do anything more, but I'd like to walk out of here and just avoid the conversation."

"Is it okay, then, if I walk you through some pretty important verses? Your family wants me to do this."

"I'll shut up, and you talk," was all you said.

I can't tell you how much I struggled to find the desire to talk to you. I've seen a lot of men on the brink of hell, but none as seemingly pleased with being in that position as you. In some ways, Ed, you knew you were going to hell, and you knew what hell was all about. Still, you were defiant to the end.

What I knew that you didn't guess was the strength of the love of God. But I couldn't make that real to you.

God is indeed love, and he is so committed to saving the human race that he hangs between heaven and hell and throws up a million roadblocks to keep anyone from dying outside of his all-compelling love. Still, he is so big on individual liberty that he forces no one's hand. God is not willing "that any should perish but that all should come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9). But the unrepentant still hold the upper hand. More than that, God hangs about the precipice of death and weeps when men and women of self walk over it.

Years ago, in The Singer, I imagined a conversation in which an obstinate person, perhaps as obstinate as Ed, asked God to mercifully decide the matter—send him off to hell and lock him up forever.

In that imagined conversation, God refused the sinner's request. "I have never desired to send anyone to hell," said God, "but if you insist on going there, I would never lock you out."

Perhaps because you were losing your vitality, you grew quiet. I said all that is most important to hear when one is balanced on the edge of life. You listened. In fact, it seemed you really listened, maybe for the first time, maybe thanks to the lateness of the hour and that awful corridor of weakened blood pressure that was threatening you with common sense. You were in that valley of the shadow where the oscilloscope is zigzagging its way across your electrocardiogram. I hate that horrible flat-line moment that stops the zigzag as the oxygen ceases its wheezing inside the plastic mask.

When I had finished telling the old, old story, I somehow felt for a moment that I was about to witness the miracle for which your whole family had been praying. You were too weak to talk, but it appeared that you were lifting your hand. It was a palsied and very shaky movement, but you were actually using your last bit of strength to raise your hand. It looked as if you were smiling through the plastic oxygen mask. I could all but hear the angels singing.

Then you laid your unsure hand on the TV control unit. I was sure you were going to say, "I believe!"

Instead what you said was, "Big Red!"—the colloquial name of the Cornhusker football team.

I was so stupid as to forget that it was two o'clock on Saturday—kickoff time at the stadium in Lincoln. You were only raising your hand to turn on the football game.

I mumbled a final prayer for you, but it was too quiet to be heard above the roar of the television.

"Big Red!" were the last words I ever heard you say in this world. But then I have always believed that deathbed conversion attempts have too much going against them to ever be consistently effective. People die pretty much as they have lived.

Ironically, Tom Osborne, the Nebraska coach, was well-known for being a Christian. I've always wondered what would have happened if he could have made that last call on you. If he, the centerpiece of your adulation, had told you how much Christ meant to him—and I know that was a great deal—you might have borrowed from his faith just enough to help you through the gates. But he was busy, over at the stadium in Lincoln. And you were too attached to your oxygen to be anywhere else except in a hospital bed.

Still, I have labored all these years, hoping that maybe, after the game—in your final moments of consciousness—you set the angels singing, and your weeping Father in heaven caught you by the shoulders as you passed the gates, and said to you, "Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many" (Matthew 25:21).

I cling to the hope that, somewhere in the last seconds of the game, you called Christ "Lord" and that this letter, addressed to Ed Pattison in heaven, has found you at the only worthy address eternity has to offer.

CHAPTER 3

THE ROAR OF IMPACT, THE HUSH OF HEAVEN

I know that Todd is in heaven, and I know that I'm going to see him again and that his efforts were not in vain. Evil in this world will ultimately be conquered by God.

* * *

Lisa Beamer, Let's Roll


TODD BEAMER

I can easily imagine your entering into heaven on September 11, 2011. I can even imagine how quickly you adjusted to your new home. But I struggle to imagine that fiery finale in an open field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, where Flight 93 plowed into the earth in a curtain of flame, erupting from the fifty-foot-deep trench your plane plowed into the earth.

Here is a big thank you from me—and the only place I can deliver it is to send it to your new mansion in heaven. How much we Americans owe you and your fellow flyers, Todd.

I was recently in Washington, D.C., and as I gazed at the Capitol and the White House, I didn't think of the presidents or the noble men and women of Congress. I thought of you. I thought of that incident that made you and your comrades the icons of courage you proved to be. It was your moment, but it was a huge moment for all of us.

As the towers fell on 9/11, you and those other heroes on Flight 93 thwarted the hijackers' plans to fly yet another plane into yet another building. And not just any building, but our Capitol or the White House. You forced your way into the cockpit and forced the plane to earth near Shanksville. I have read of that moment when you charged toward the cockpit. The story was given to the world by Airfone switchboard operator Lisa Jefferson, who told your wife—your own Lisa—about the call you made that day when you couldn't reach your wife. The story describes how you spent your courage to save our country.

I can hardly wait to thank you personally for the stewardship of your daring.

I love your tentative willingness to do something, and your pausing to ask yourself if you were up to it. "We're going to do something," you told Lisa Jefferson, and not much later you added, "It's what we have to do!"


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Letters to Heaven by Calvin Miller. Copyright © 2011 Calvin Miller. Excerpted by permission of WORTHY PUBLISHING.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Read More Show Less

Table of Contents

Contents

Foreword,
Introduction,
MEETING MAMA'S GOD Ethel Miller,
TO A MAN WHOSE GOD WAS ON THE GRIDIRON Ed Pattisson,
THE ROAR OF IMPACT, THE HUSH OF HEAVEN Todd Beamer,
TO THE WOMAN WHO TAUGHT ME ILLEGALLY Rowena Strickland,
CANCER VICTOR Farrah Fawcett,
THE MAN WHO CELEBRATED CORPUSCLES Paul Brand,
A LESSON ON HUGGING GENERALS Miffy Thomas,
NARNIA ON THE WAY George Sayer,
A GRIEF OBSERVED C. S. Lewis,
TO A GODLY MAN WITH A MAD WIFE Good John Smithson,
DYING AT A FORK IN THE ROAD Jim Elliot,
DO DEAD MEN STILL WALK THE EARTH? Norman Vincent Peale,
TO A GIRL IN AN IRON LUNG A Hero Whose Name Is Withheld,
SCORE: GOD ONE, CANCER ZERO Ormond Bentley,
THE VERY STUFF OF HEAVEN Brittany Gilson,
TO A MAN WHO DIED BESIDE ME ON A FLIGHT Mr. Achiever, Esq,
A WRINKLE IN ETERNITY Madeleine L'Engle,
ENTERING HEAVEN FROM A FARMER'S POND To Dickey,
AN UNCOMMON MAN BENEATH A COMMON STONE Bob Highfill,
GETTING DRESSED FOR GOD Anne Herbert,
SCRUBBING UP SAINTS Paul Little,
THE TRUTHS THAT DEAD MEN SPEAK Oscar Wilde,
THE LOOK OF COMMON MARTYRS Martha Myers,
DINNER IN ANAHEIM Harold Shaw,
THE MADONNA AND THE CHILD-MAN Bubba and Nola,
THERE'S A MAN GOING 'ROUND TAKING NAMES ... IN INK! Johnny Cash,
Notes,

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Be the first to write a review
( 0 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(0)

4 Star

(0)

3 Star

(0)

2 Star

(0)

1 Star

(0)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously

    If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
    Why is this product inappropriate?
    Comments (optional)