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“You have to tell people about this,” one of them said.

“That experience wasn’t just for you,” another friend said. “It’s for us as well. It’s for me.”

As I listened to each one over the next two weeks, I realized I was right back where I had been in the hospital the time Jay had rebuked me. That time I wouldn’t let anyone help me, and it was selfish. This time I wouldn’t share what had happened to me—and it was also selfish.

“Okay, I’ll talk about it,” I vowed to myself.

Since virtually everyone already knew about my tragic auto accident, I used the occasion as the natural catalyst to speak about my time in heaven—cautiously at first. As people responded with overwhelming support, I became more open and less careful about the people with whom I shared my story.

I want to make it clear that even though I knew it was what I was supposed to do, it wasn’t easy for me. Even now, years later, it’s just against my nature to talk deeply and personally about things in my life. Today, I only discuss my glimpse of heaven when someone asks, and then only because I feel that person really wants to know. Otherwise, I still wouldn’t talk about it.

That’s part of the reason it’s taken me so many years to write this book. I didn’t want my experience in heaven and my return to earth to be my sole reason for being alive. On the contrary, it was such an extraordinarily personal and intimate experience that going back over it repeatedly isn’t something I feel comfortable doing.

I talk about my experience both publicly and to individuals. I’m writing about what happened because my story seems to mean so much to people for many different reasons. For example, when I speak to any large crowd, at least one person will be present who has recently lost a loved one and needs assurance of that person’s destination.

When I finish speaking, it still amazes me to see how quickly the line forms of those who want to talk to me. They come with tears in their eyes and grief written all over their faces. I feel so grateful that I can offer them peace and assurance.

I’ve accepted that my words do bring comfort, but it was never something I thought about doing. If it hadn’t been for David Gentiles pushing me, I’m sure that even to this day I wouldn’t have told anyone.

I’m also grateful for his urging me, because I’ve seen the effect not only in worship services but also when I’ve conducted funerals. In fact, my experience has changed many things about the way I look at life. I’ve changed the way I do funerals. Now I can speak authoritatively about heaven from firsthand knowledge.

Besides my own miraculous experience, four things stand out from my heavenly journey. First, I’m thoroughly convinced that God answers prayer. Answered prayer is why I’m still alive. Second, I have an unquestionable belief that God still is in the miracle business. Too many people read about the supernatural in the Bible and think, That’s the way it was in biblical times. I’m convinced that God continues to do the more-than-ordinary. Every day I thank God that I’m a living, walking, talking miracle.

Third, I want as many people as possible to go to heaven. I’ve always believed Christian theology that declares heaven is real and a place for God’s people. Since my own experience of having been there, I’ve felt a stronger sense of responsibility to make the way absolutely clear. Not only do I want people to go to heaven, I now feel an urgency about helping them open their lives so they can be assured that’s where they’ll go when they die.

I’ve actually thought about the people who get killed on the highways. In evangelistic services, some have used such stories as a scare tactic to manipulate people into making commitments to Jesus Christ. But because of my experience, I see such accidents as definite possibilities of death at any moment in our lives. I don’t want to see others die without Jesus Christ.

Finally, one time, Dick Onerecker and I talked about this urgency. He understood why I felt that way. Then I told him, “Again, Dick, I