When Eternity Becomes Present

In those foggy moments before the alarm rings and consciousness reminds me of the day ahead, I listen hard for soul whispers. It is often in the early morning when the meditations of my heart remind me I am not alone. The treasure of Psalm 127:2 becomes reality, “God gives to his beloved even in his sleep.”

A gift. A divine murmur to remind me all is well.

Such a moment happened recently as I heard a voice call my name, “Rebecca.” It was a female voice, so perhaps its source was the nurturing comfort of the Trinity’s feminine side. Or maybe an angel assigned to take care of me. Perhaps a sweet relative who has passed to glory.

Although I could not identify its owner, I knew it was no one in the realm of earth’s present. Rather, it was a voice from eternity.

Then a touch, a stroke of my hair, and the assurance of being loved — completely and forever adored by the Divine. The rest of my day was filtered through that comforting feeling of being surrounded by God’s love.

How can this happen — when eternity interrupts our life on earth and makes itself so very known we cannot ignore or deny its presence? Is it those moments when God knows we need more than just a Bible verse to underscore Emanuel with us? Does he long to remind us that the veil between ‘here’ and ‘there’ is thin? That eternity’s reality is not so far away?

We think of heaven as an ethereal universe far beyond our own galaxy, but what if it is all around us? What if the kingdom of heaven is closer than we imagine? What if God is always reaching out to us, to give a hug or stroke a fevered forehead, but we’re just too focused on the ‘now’ to realize he is there?

This was not the first time eternity chose to visit. A few years ago, I received word that a good friend was involved in a motorcycle accident. No helmet. Brain damage. The intensive care unit with beeping machines.

I prayed throughout the night, then somehow knew Nathan had crossed over. The confirming phone call was no surprise. Tears for his loss, yet joy for the assurance that death’s sting was swallowed in victory.

Two days later, suddenly Nate stood in my hallway. A gentle smile on his face, he wore the cowboy lariat necklace so popular in his beloved New Mexico — a coral stone set in silver, the black leather strap. No words were exchanged, but I knew he was thanking me for my prayers. It was a token from eternity that Nate was all right, would always and forever be okay. Then he was gone. Again.

Sorrow, yet joy for the brief encounter. For the reminder that eternity cannot be measured by our finite minds. Its very transparency brings comfort.

Those we have seemed to have lost are not lost at all. They are closer than we imagine. Hebrews 12 calls them a great cloud of witnesses cheering us on. And right there, standing with them, is the Savior of our souls — this One who dares to love us in spite of who we are or what we have done.

So I listen hard for those divine whispers and hang on to the hope that maybe I’ll hear that same sweet voice or feel that touch again. God is, after all, just a whisper away.

©2025 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

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