It was the biggest waiting room in the world.  Well, not in the world, because we were no longer part of that ethereal plane.  But you get the idea.  It looked like an airport waiting area, but it spread out in all directions as far as the eye could see.

While I waited, I studied the people around me.  On my right was a nervous young man.  I swear he jumped at every sound and his eyes darted back and forth so fast it made me dizzy.

Across the aisle was an entire family.  The oldest of the three kids couldn’t have been over twelve. Looking at them made me sad, but they seemed content to be together.

I wondered how they all came to be here at the same time.  Plane crash, fire, or some other kind of catastrophe.  I thought about asking, but wasn’t sure if it would be considered rude.  Etiquette might frown on it here.

An old man sat across from me.  He seemed happy.

“Cancer.  Riddled with it.  This is the first pain free hour I’ve had in months.  Thank God it’s over.  Even if they send me the other way, it can’t be any worse.”

A wide-eyed man in an ivory-colored suit hurried over to whisper, “Don’t say that, sir.  Even in jest.  You don’t know Him the way we do.  You don’t know what He can do.  Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

He stood there, as if waiting for something.  I looked him over more carefully.  A few wrinkles around the eyes indicated early middle-age, as did the beginnings of a spare tire above his belt.  As if I could talk. 

His appearance intrigued me.  “Pardon me, but who are you?”

He looked surprised that I would notice him.  “Why, I’m here to assist you.”

“I appreciate that, Mr… er…,” I wasn’t about to give up.

“Names are not important here,” he said.  “At least, not our names.  We’re here to help you on your way.”

I persisted, “And where would that be?”

“Why, one place or the other, of course,” he said.  “This is where the new arrivals wait for their final judgment.”

“So I’m dead,” I said.  “I wanted to be sure.”

He nodded.  “Sometimes it takes a little while to sink in.  It’s good to see that you’ve accepted it.  I have a terrible time with some of the people who won’t admit that they’re no longer alive.  It’s impossible to help them until they do.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that.  “I’ll bet.”

            He handed me a pencil and a pad.  “Write down anything that you wish to remind the panel about.  Sometimes they get rather testy if you make them wait.  If you think of any questions you might want to ask, jot those down as well.”

            “The panel?”

            “The Panel Review.  Some people call it the Review Board.  You can call it whatever you want.  That’s the group that decides where you go from here.”  He looked me straight in the eyes.  “You have to convince them that you are worthy.”

            “What if I fail?” I asked.

            He looked horrified.  “No one ever gets a second chance.”

            “How long do I have?”  The concept of eternity was worrying me.  Would I have to stand in line for a few centuries?

            “Take as long as you want,” he said with a shrug.  “We have all the time in the universe.”  As I nodded he wandered off to talk to another newcomer.

            I looked down at the pad, and looked back up.  “Hey, there’s only one sheet of paper here.  What if I can think of more?”

            He called back, “Don’t worry about it.”

            Well, I thought.  How rude.

            I studied the pad for a second.  If I wrote small I could list twenty or so items.  If that wasn’t enough, I could check with other people and see if they had some paper to spare.

            Let’s see.  The best things I had ever done. I pondered for a moment.  This was harder than I thought.  For a minute I couldn’t think of anything good I had done.  Then I realized I couldn’t think of anything.  My life was a blank.  Did I have a family?  Wait a minute.  Yes!  I had a wife and two children.  Their names were, er, Diane, …and Bill and Marcy.

            Relief flooded me.  That’s better.  I just have to focus on things and they would clear up.  Okay, now, I have a family.  What have I done for them lately?

            I distinctly remembered going to a football game and cheering.  Oops.  That was the local pro team.  Did my son even play sports?  That’s right.  He was on the debating team.  And the chess club.  And Marcy played the flute and worked on the school newspaper.

            Why were these memories so fuzzy?  Was I that bad a father?  Looking back on my life, I realized how many family milestones I had missed, but it was because I was working hard for them.

            I looked down at my paper.  Still empty.  I thought to myself, at this rate, I’ll be here forever.  Suddenly that phrase sent a chill down my back.

            I sat there for a long time, looking inward, trying to find goodness.  People came and went.  Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of the man in white, as I came to call him.  Here and there he would appear to greet someone, or say an encouraging word to another.  He never came close enough to my location to ask him any of the questions that tormented my thoughts.

Time passed slowly.  I don’t know how many days or weeks went by.  I sat there lost in my own mind, pencil and paper in hand, writing nothing.  Not one person spoke to me, and I was too caught up in myself to speak to anyone else.

The longer I sat there, the more unfair it seemed.  Finally I could take it no more.  I stood up ready to shout for the greeter.  Before I could open my mouth, he appeared.  Still wearing the immaculate white suit, he seemed as energetic and eager as ever.  “What can I do to help?”

“I want out of this place.”

“Wonderful!” he said.  “Then you’re ready for your Review Board.”  He looked down at the sheet of paper.  “That’s not much of a list.”

“I’ll worry about the list, thank you.”

He drew himself up.  “There’s no need to be snippy, sir.”  He snapped his fingers.

Before my eyes, the background changed and we were somewhere else.  I didn’t feel a thing, but we were in a smaller room.  By smaller, I mean in comparison to the waiting room.  This one was merely the size of Yankee Stadium.

We appeared on one side of the room and had to walk the length of it to where five figures sat, at a bench much like the U.S. Supreme Court, but taller.  Four men, one woman, only the head and shoulders of each were visible.

The center figure spoke.  “You have declared yourself fit to proceed.  What evidence do you give us?”

            I crossed my arms.  “None.”

            Wide-eyed and wordless, the judges looked at each other, then back at me.  The greeter whispered, “I thought you said you were ready.”

“I am,” I answered, never taking my eyes off of the judges.

The head judge scowled.  “Explain.”

 “Your honors,” I said.  “I stand before you a good man.  But I have no proof of that.”  I began to pace back and forth before them, my arms flailing as I tried to express myself.  “How is a man supposed to remember all the good he’s done in his life?  Should I have kept a diary and written down each time I put a dollar in the Salvation Army pot?  Should I list every time I stopped and let another car into traffic?”

The more I talked the madder I got.  “I’m not a saint.  I ignored my family far too often.  But I did it because I was trying to give them a better life than what I had growing up, so I had to work long hours.  I neglected them yes, but it was out of love.”  My hands were a blur in my attempt to justify my life.  “Sitting in that room and reflecting on things, I realize I could have given them more time, more of me.”  My voice softened.  “But I didn’t, and now I can’t.”

Pausing for a breath, I continued.  “I remember other failings.  Times I did something that I wished I could take back.  Times I should have acted or spoken up and didn’t.”  I repeated the word that tasted so bitter now.  “Time, ladies and gentlemen.  It never stands still.”

“We have countless others to interview,” the judge said.  “Kindly get to the point.”

“But that is the point,” I said.  “My only failure on Earth was time, or the lack of time, to be precise.”  I turned slowly to catch each judge’s eye.  “I did the best I could with what was given me.  I did no great deeds during my life, but I did countless small good things.  I think I deserve to go on.”

In an instant I was standing in front of a gleaming golden gate, the greeter at my side.  “Welcome,” he said.

“Welcome to where?” I asked.

“Why, to the hereafter, of course.”

My confusion must have been apparent, as the greeter added, “No one ever fails the review.  Because you requested it, you passed it.”

That didn’t make sense.  “Then why have a review, if it serves no purpose?”

He took no offense at my criticism.  “On the contrary, it serves an important purpose.  This system is in place for a reason.  If everyone just walked in, most individuals would feel guilty.  Deep down, there would always be a little voice that whispered to them that they didn’t deserve it.  That nagging guilt would grow with time, and keep the person from being completely happy.”

            A big grin came over his face.  “With this approach people have to look at themselves and appreciate what they’ve done with their lives.  Each person decides when he or she has suffered enough.”

            I was almost convinced.  “Okay, that makes sense, but what about the truly evil people, like Hitler or Jeffrey Daumer?

He nodded.  “Granted, there are some people, albeit a microscopic percentage, that are simply too evil to be allowed to enter.  We weed them out immediately.  After all, if we let everyone in, without exception, it would be no better than Earth.”

He put his hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the gate, as it began to open.  I turned to ask him what the protocol was, but he was gone.

From the other side of the gate I heard a familiar bark.  “Sparky!” I cried.  A golden lab came trotting toward me.  It was my dog from boyhood.  Gone was the arthritis that crippled him toward the end.  As I bent over to greet him, I realized my aches and pains were gone also.  Standing up, I spotted my mother and father, looking as young as the day I graduated high school.  Sparky and I stepped past the gate toward them and entered forever.