In the unending first moment of Eternity, as we stand before Our Loving God, we will see all the Goodness He had showered upon us on earth. We will see just how awesomely good He has been to us from the very moment of conception to the last second of our journey toward Him. How He had longed and thirsted for morsels of love from us! For the most part, what He had received, at best, were grudging moments of prayer; at worst, indifference to His sweet burning love for us.
A friend once told me of a near-death experience, and her journey toward hell. "Since my name was not written in the Book of Life, I began a slow descent toward a gaping mouth from which horrible sounds emanated. As I walked toward it, I knew that this is what I deserved. A soft lament welled from my depths, but not as an escape from what I deserved. I began to say, 'Jesus, I am so sorry that I wasted all the graces that you lavished on me. I am so sorry that I did not thank you enough for what you did for me on the cross.'"
Her cry seems to echo that of the Rich Man pleading with Abraham to send someone to warn his five brothers from perishing as well in the pit of selfishness that was awaiting them.
What if we lived our lives in gratitude, today, for all that Our Good Lord and God does for us? What if we acknowledge just how sweet, how patient he is with us who do not thank Him, who do not want Him as the most important person in our lives? What would we say if we met Him now, in our first moment of Eternity? Thank you! Or would we be speechless awaiting His judgment?
(An excerpt from Mary's Vision by the Moderator)
What heavenly hindsight awaits those whose past blindness sudden ceases —
Those treasures abhorred — pearls unseemly bound that broken bodies hid:
Who hungered, thirsted, and naked lay — comfort none this stranger spared.
Those moments unseized — gold unearthly bound — that slothful wills did mire:
Thee, who played, and clothed thyself — that none, not thee, this Stranger knows.
What heavenly foresight shines through those whose lives' fervor forever grows —
Those hearts dear seeking — freshly tilled fields, awaiting Thy gentle touch.
O Thy glory, through darkness flashed, transfiguring poor mortal souls:
Putrid sores, suddenly, Thy Precious Blood transforms fragrantly sweet —
Those comforting arms enfold wretches to Thy Heart, balming Thine untouched friends.
Those moments grasped before their prime; thee, who cherish gifts of Giver meek:
Who prayed, sorrowed, and clothed Thee — none but Thee, no Stranger, knew.
What eyes see what thou seest: thy brothers, thou do hear; thy sisters, thou do comfort.
Through clanging noise, silent, thy lips honour Thy latest Passion — His friends now suffering.
Prison cages bar not their servant hearts, captive only their Master's Voice stilling
Murmuring dissenting living, with restful stillness pasturing close to His Heart.