(A Child's View of God, Heaven and
People ask me, "Why should you be picked to spend a lifetime
working with Midwayers?" "Why not me?" Or even, "Why should
I believe you?"
I don't have all the answers. Uh, uh!
The right kind of upbringing and a readiness to cooperate
with others does not necessarily guarantee one will find oneself in
association with our Midwayer Cousins on Urantia. But, perhaps, the
right attitude might help.
Where is Heaven?
Our busy household in a semi-rural area, with lots of
siblings, and a religious upbringing was all a small child could ever
wish for. My environment was ideal, but mainly in the sense that both
my parents devoted their lives to the welfare of their offspring --
indeed, to the wider community. There was an awesome work ethic that
rubbed off on all the family.
The town and its environs counted less than three thousand souls. The
inhabitants were rather equally divided between those who were Protestant,
and those who were Catholic -- them and us. "Them" was the Heathens,
obviously, and "Us" was the Catholic children of God, who would all
go to Heaven some day.
Why Protestant folk would even bother to go to their church on Sundays
was an ever-baffling mystery to me. Saint Peter would never let a Protestant
through the Pearly Gates, and everybody already knew that, except the
"Where is Heaven?" I asked my hard-working Mom.
"High up in the sky," she told me. "It's a big place where you can finally
rest your weary bones and look at God."
I spent the rest of that afternoon atop a sand dune, searching the sky
from north to south, east to west, but I spied no Heaven. It would probably
look like another giant Gothic church, I imagined, but it would be quite
heavy and need to rest solidly on a cloud. That could well be the reason
why I couldn't see it from below.
But I believed it was there, because my mother said so, and kids all
know that mothers tell no lies.
God, I imagined, would look just like our town's priest, only bigger.
Much bigger, and not very handsome, just like our rather ugly priest.
It came as a shock to me to soon learn that us good Catholics would
need to share our Heaven with the sinning Protestants. That was devastating
news! And I made up my mind to slip out of that "Church in the Sky"
when God wasn't looking my way. I would find something useful to do
in God's back yard.
God would be furious with me for not sitting still in Heaven and looking
at Him all the time, I knew. But I would quickly tell God what good
work I had done, and God would forgive me. God might even be pleased
with my efforts, since I would have been helping his Angels with their
The "Bestest" Job of All
Everyone in our family had a daily task -- a chore of
some kind, depending on age. When I stood tall enough, my job became
the caring for our rabbits. One needed to be a little more than three
feet tall to reach the rabbits' food trays and water dishes, and that
was the height I had at last attained.
Caring for the rabbits was not a chore, but an outright pleasure, to
touch, caress, and talk to these furry little guys. It was the "bestest"
job of all, and I was even regularly praised for my work. Soon all rabbits
had names, grew plump and round, and recognized the sound of my voice.
Perhaps even understood what I was telling them each day. The entire
rabbit tribe had become my very best friends; I was their caring leader.
What great trauma some few days before Christmas that year when I found
most of their hutches empty. My father had decimated my beloved rabbit
tribe, and only Molly, Judy and Henk were left alive.
I hated that big Frenchman for what he had done, refused to speak to
him for days, and poured out all my tears in front of the three saddened
Does God Eat Rabbits?
The rabbit skins had all been cured and dried. Some had
been turned into mittens or gloves. The Frenchman had eaten the last
of his rabbit stew, and Henk the Buck had been successful once again,
for both Judy and Molly looked very pregnant. Soon there would again
be lots of little rabbits for me to care for.
"Does God eat rabbits?" I asked the Frenchman who was reading his daily
Absentmindedly he looked up from his "Courant de Paris" and studied
me with great interest. Finally he answered thoughtfully, "Mais, non!"
It seemed that God ate neither breakfast nor dinner, but somehow managed
to stay healthy and alive forever -- an incredible achievement!
My mind was made up. I would go to Heaven for a time, slip out of there
unseen, and leave the town's Catholics and sinner Protestants to sit
there and look at God.
And I would tend to God's rabbits in His back yard. They would never
be eaten or harmed.
Perhaps this is the only advice I can offer those who
also want to work with Urantia's Midwayers; Look after His most vulnerable
(human) creatures with care and concern, and the Midwayers may help
© 11:11 Progress Group.
Toujours au Service de Michael.