Hole in the ceiling

What if heaven is just a hole-in-the-ceiling away?

When I was little, I had a strange dream. In that dream, I woke up and it was midnight. I stepped down the bed, but I don’t remember wearing my slippers. So I opened our bedroom’s door, and found all lights off as they should be. The floor creaked lightly beneath my bare feet as I headed to the room where my aunt once stayed and lay asleep to eternity. As to why I was going there, I can’t remember.

I came at the room’s door and found it ajar. I pushed it a little further, enough to create a space for my little body. I snuck in. It could’ve been a dark room, but there was a circle of light on the floor streaming from something above at the corner of the room. I plodded near it, my eyes following the trail of light. And there it was – a huge hole in the ceiling.

Quickly, I grabbed the ladder and leaned it against the wall. I climbed towards the hole, and heaved myself up into it. As far as I can remember, I found myself walking on clouds afterwards. For some reason, I was happy – no, joyful. The place was lit brightly yet calmly. I couldn’t see walls, as if it stretches forever, but I felt safe in it. I remember anticipating to see a figure of Jesus approaching me. I was so sure He was there, and I must’ve seen Him if the dream lasted a tad longer. When I woke up for real, it was already morning. I dashed to the room and looked for the hole. Of course, it wasn’t there. I wrote about it in my diary and have never forgotten it since.

I am no longer that little kid, but I admit I still occasionally look for that hole in the ceiling. Sometimes, God seems silent (either that or I tend to go deaf). Sometimes, things get too painful or confusing – so confusing that in my prayers, I would beg God for answers. Then I would wish to climb that hole again, stay in that place and wait for Him to come.

But the hole in the ceiling was just a dream, you see.

It doesn’t exist.

And I know that it’s because…it doesn’t need to.

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