The Life Elysian. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Two. The Family in Paradise.

In that first embrace, I experienced a taste of the sweet compensation that Heaven bestows upon those whose happiness was delayed by the difficult circumstances of earthly life.

If you are poor, unloved, lost, or lonely, do not despair—I speak as one who has endured the struggle, carried the burden, and refused to be comforted, and I tell you that one day, others will envy you. Thousands who have enjoyed love as it is known on earth will one day wish that they had walked in your shoes. Just as a buttercup compares to a rose, or a daisy to a lily, so is the love of earth—even in its purest and sweetest form—compared to the heavenly love that flows undisturbed through eternity in Paradise.

This love surpasses all understanding, defies words, and is untouched by anything selfish or impure. It is as pure as Heaven itself, powerful enough to heal every wound, free from distance or division, and limitless in its embrace. It opens the door to an ever-unfolding journey that confidently leads to God.

I do not know—I will never know—how long we stood together, lost in that divine joy. In this life, time no longer matters; the only measure we recognize is that of fullness—complete, overflowing, and abundant. We had waited long, so what if our reunion was long? Heaven is generous and has ordained that every soul shall be satisfied.

Setting aside the questions of time and detail, let me answer what I know must be the first thought in your mind:

Did I recognize my mother when we met?

The question of recognizing loved ones in the afterlife has always fascinated people. Preachers, poets, teachers, parents, children, and friends all wonder about it with a mix of hope, doubt, and fear.

Will we meet again? If so, will we recognize each other after so much time apart?

These questions, and many more, are whispered through tears and grief over the still, silent bodies of the departed, though no answer is expected.

In this search for reassurance, the heart clings to hope, refusing to let go, longing for even the smallest sign that reunion is possible. Meanwhile, reason, cold and unsympathetic, declares such hopes impossible, demanding that love accept the harsh finality of fate.

But even those who reject this rational conclusion still struggle with uncertainty.

If we do meet again, in what form will our loved ones appear?

Will Longfellow’s hopeful vision be true?

“Not as a child shall we again behold her.

For when with raptures wild

In our embraces we again enfold her,

She will not be a child.

But a fair maiden in her father’s mansion,

Clothed with celestial grace.

And beautiful with all the soul’s expansion

Shall we behold her face.”

Or will the yearning mother’s plea for her child’s familiar face be fulfilled?

“Oh, say not so! how shall I know my darling

If changed her form and veiled with shining hair?

If, since her flight, has grown my starling,

How shall I know her there?

On memory’s page by viewless fingers painted,

I see the features of my angel child;

She passed away ere vice her life had tainted - *Pass’d to the undefiled.”

Oh, please don’t say that! I want to hold her

Just as I did when she lay on my chest.

I want to dream of her as a tiny bud in heaven,

Blooming among the blessed flowers.

She was my little one, a folded lily,

Sweeter than any floating on the blue waves.

But then night fell—cold and starless—And, oh, we could not save her.

Yes, as a child—oh, wise and noble poet—Heaven would be dark without children there!

I hope to hold my little bud again,

Just as she was—a sweet, dimpled baby.

Though years have passed, my heart still longs

For my blue-eyed daughter with a mother’s love.

That love still wraps around her,

Keeping her as a child above.

Still a baby, my little dove-eyed girl,

Nestle and coo in my arms once more.

Wait for your mother by the river’s edge—I promise, I will come.

Wait for me as a child! How will I know you

If your form has changed and your hair shines bright?

If you have grown since you left, my little star,

How will I recognize you there?

It would be easy for me to continue listing the vague ideas that people hold about recognizing loved ones in Paradise, if that were my goal. But it is not. My purpose is to settle these doubts, as much as possible, by sharing my own experience as an example of what God has kindly provided in answer to this universal longing of love.

I may be mistaken—everyone naturally believes their own experience is the best example—but I feel that my experience is uniquely suited to bring clarity to this deeply emotional question. That is why I am willing to spend more time on this moment than I otherwise would, in the hope that it may ease someone’s burden of doubt.

Did I recognize my mother when I saw her again after nearly forty years? Yes—completely. Not only that, but I was certain I would recognize her even before I saw her, while the curtain between us was still closed. How this was possible, I cannot fully explain.

Perhaps it was through the mutual pull of love reaching out to embrace us both, or maybe a new power of recognition awakened in me as our spirits connected. I do not know. But I knew, without a doubt, that I would know her just as she would know me. And when the curtain was finally drawn aside, I threw my arms around her and held her close before I even saw her face.

It was only after my heart had been fully satisfied that my eyes demanded their turn. Then, with both hands, I lifted her head to look into her loving eyes. A first look, I thought. But as our eyes met, my memory burst open, and in that moment, one of the greatest and most tender mercies of God was revealed to me.

“Vaone!”—I gasped.

"Aphraar," she whispered, and her head rested again on my chest while I drank in an even deeper and sweeter joy than before.

Do not be afraid, anxious soul, that the child you love will be unrecognizable when you hold her in your arms once more. Even if she has grown into a beautiful young woman, radiant with the full development of her soul, she will not be a stranger to you.

In that first glance from my mother’s eyes, my memory suddenly awakened—I realized that all those years I had grieved her absence, I had actually spent most of my sleep-time with her in that little-known boundary between the physical and spiritual worlds. God, in His mercy, has placed this space as a comfort for those who mourn. The name I called her—the new name I thought I had just learned—was in fact the one I had been using all along in my sleep, without realizing it.

Long ago, through the prophet Hosea (13:14), God made a promise of comfort to humanity, which this little-understood truth may well fulfill: “I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. O death, I will be your plague; O grave, I will be your destruction.” Why has the world not learned to rejoice in these blessings? Where are the teachers God has appointed to guide people, that such truths have not yet been shouted from the mountaintops, nor used to heal the broken hearted?

Scientists have long confirmed that matter cannot be destroyed. So where are the spiritual prophets and visionaries who should have recognized the deeper truth in this discovery?

If the physical body is indestructible in some form, then surely the soul—the conscious force that controls and animates it—must also be eternal. Life is greater than mere dust, and the mind is far superior to its chemical components. Matter may change form, and life may shift its outer shell or the realm in which it operates, but just as matter cannot be destroyed, life cannot cease to exist.

Noon can never become midnight. It may gradually give way, but when midnight arrives, noon still exists and continues its purpose elsewhere. In the same way, life is always the opposite of death—it cannot die. For life, there is no death. "God is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for all live unto Him." If something has lived, it still lives and must continue to live, for life is of God and must exist within Him.

If this is true—and who can prove otherwise?—then how hopeful and beautiful is the lesson of a plant growing in a dark dungeon, reaching and climbing toward the sunlight. Could the love of those who have left this world be any less persistent?

If a plant will push through obstacles to find the light, if a seed buried in the ground will break through its tomb and thrive, will not the love of those who have passed on be just as strong? Can a plant have more power, more loyalty, and more ability to seek the sun than a mother has for her child, or a friend for a friend? "O ye of little faith!"

The soul holds powerful and life-changing truths that it longs to reveal to humanity, if only the mind were open enough to remember them. These truths would shake many of our deeply held ideas about God, religion, and the afterlife.

But these truths are vast—too wide, too high, too deep—requiring an openness as unrestricted as a child’s marble rolling through the gates of a great city. Yet, the small, rigid systems of men would disappear in their presence, like the fragile illusions of a dream. So, for the sake of preserving these systems, the Needle’s Eye remains, despite the suffering, hardship, and unfaithfulness to God that it causes. Men have built these restrictive gates, and if God has made the truth too immense to pass through them, what should be done?

Should we adjust our understanding to fit God’s truth, or shrink the truth to fit our limited structures? The architects of these systems argue for the latter, and so the debate continues.

But the Tree of Life is growing, its roots and branches pushing through the cracks in the walls of resistance. Already, deep fractures are spreading in every direction, and still, the growth continues. Love must and will find a way back to earth, revealing the truth of the afterlife. God allows this return; sleep itself is a daily separation of the soul from the body, a brief glimpse of existence beyond. In the sacred threshold of sleep—the vestibule of Heaven—those who have been separated meet again, rejoicing in the triumph of life over the illusion of death.

Once you fully grasp this great truth and turn your heart toward remembering it, the fear and sorrow of the grave will soon be replaced with victory.

I can already hear some of my critics asking: “If this is true, why hasn’t the world already been shown this proof?”

I answer that this truth was already revealed through the teachings and resurrection of Jesus.

However, religious institutions have chosen to ignore His teachings and treat His resurrection as a one-time miracle instead of an example of an ongoing, universal law. The contradictions and confusion that result from this choice are not for me to resolve—I simply point them out and move forward. Human ignorance of a natural law does not mean that the law does not exist. Wireless telegraphy, telepathy, and countless other discoveries were possible centuries ago, but humanity was not yet ready to uncover them.

All of God's greatest gifts—the scientific discoveries we have yet to imagine—are within reach for those who are willing to seek them. God does not simply hand His richest treasures to those who sit idly by. "They that seek, find." Arrogant ignorance is never a reliable guide, but "the secrets of the Lord are with those who fear Him and seek to do His will." It is not wise to judge a man by his clothing, nor truth by the glitter of its packaging. Things are not always what they seem. The rough exterior of a gemstone hides the brilliance within. Some flowers bloom later than others, but that does not make them any less beautiful.

So even if the truth I now proclaim has been neglected and opposed for so long, it still carries its original power, despite religious intolerance.

Since every step of our journey will be full of discoveries, lessons, surprises, and growth, we cannot linger indefinitely on one point. We are walking the path of life, where the studies of eternity are scattered before us. It is no wonder that we may have to return again and again, realizing that the truths we uncover today are only the beginnings of lessons that will unfold in the future. We will never exhaust the limitless wisdom of God. Let us, therefore, gather what is useful for today and trust that the rest will be revealed when the time is right.

Another important point now demands my attention, and I must address it. It comes from the names we used when I lifted my mother’s head—

"Vaone—Aphraar!"

I have already mentioned how certain events can act like triggers, unlocking a flood of forgotten memories.

Lifting her dear head was one such moment, bringing back the names we had long used in our sleep-communion—those "new names" that we all expect to receive as part of our immortal inheritance. But this realization went even deeper:

I had just called her "Mother" for the last time.

With all other earthly distinctions and identities left behind, even that most cherished and sacred of all titles had now been set aside. In immortality, the relationship of mother and child no longer exists.

At first, this may sound shocking or even absurd. But before rejecting it, let us carefully consider what it truly means. If we must let go of a deeply held belief, we will find that what replaces it is something even greater and more precious.

Truth and sentiment do not always go hand in hand, and just because something has been believed for centuries does not make it true. That is why it is essential to examine whether our beliefs rest on solid, eternal laws or on shifting, unreliable traditions.

Paul, following the teachings of Christ, clearly stated that "flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kingdom of God.

" If that is true, then the physical limitations of earthly life must also be left behind so that higher, divine forces can operate freely in the spiritual realm.

The belief in a reunited family in the afterlife has been cherished for ages, so it deserves respectful and thoughtful consideration. I will approach this topic with the sincerity that truth requires.

On earth, however, the idea of an exclusive and unbroken family circle is more of a poetic dream than a practical reality. In fact, it is an impossible concept that no reasonable person would try to achieve.

Do we object to welcoming new members into the family as it grows? When children reach a certain age, how often must a son be sent to another city or even another country to remove him from bad influences or to provide better opportunities? Education, careers, and personal success often require individuals to leave home.

Financial struggles, new job opportunities, or even love might lead a daughter to move away. When the time comes, a young woman willingly leaves father, mother, and home to start a new life with her husband.

In all these situations, does the ideal of an unbroken family demand to be upheld? No! The reality is accepted without resistance. There may be sighs, even tears, but the family soon agrees that the change is natural—often even necessary—and they help in making it happen.

Marriage, for example, requires two separate families to break apart in order to form a new family unit. Once this happens, neither of the original family circles can ever be fully restored without tearing apart the new one.

This brings us to an important question: How could any single family be "complete" in Heaven?

The only way to make that possible would be for each family to exist without parents, because every parent belongs to a previous family that would also need to be whole. But if parents were removed, would that still be an ideal vision of a reunited family?

Beyond the physical forces that separate families, there are even greater dividing factors found in personal interests, morals, intellect, art, science, and other areas of life.

These circles of interest often shape a person’s life more powerfully than family ties, sometimes leading to an ever-growing distance between relatives. Yet, society accepts these separations as necessary, especially when keeping the family together would limit someone’s potential or hinder personal growth.

Whenever natural law or intellectual progress requires it, people are always willing to sacrifice family unity for the sake of personal fulfillment and development.

But there is an even higher level of connection to consider—the spiritual bond between souls, which surpasses anything possible through flesh and blood. In the afterlife, all people are children of God, regardless of their nationality, race, language, or earthly distinctions. The whole family of Heaven and Earth is one, and in comparison, to God’s Fatherhood, no other parental relationship can hold the same weight.

A brief earthly connection cannot override the eternal laws that govern the soul. The temporary authority of parents during a child's life cannot be greater than the soul’s ultimate allegiance to God.

In Heaven, there is only one family, and all of humanity belongs to it as brothers and sisters, with God as the Father of all.

Blood relationships, along with all other earthly limitations, are left behind at the border of the grave. However, true spiritual connections remain. We will remember the relationships that bound us together, but not as mother and child, which would keep us apart as separate beings. Instead, we will be joined in a deeper, holier union—soul to soul—a bond that can never be broken, because all true love is blessed by God and nothing can separate it.

When we realistically examine the idea of a united family, even from an earthly perspective, we quickly see that it is both impractical and impossible. And when we try to extend this concept into the purely spiritual realm, it becomes even more unbelievable that such an idea was ever taken seriously. The interests of the individual always take priority over the ideal of an unbroken family, a truth that is recognized in earthly life and remains unchanged in the afterlife. Therefore, nothing that contributes to a soul’s well-being will ever be lost.

The mistake people make is assuming that physical limitations and relationships continue unchanged in the spiritual world. This misunderstanding is where the false idea of family reunification comes from. On earth, parental love serves an essential role in a child’s early life, but as the child grows, that dependence fades. The child learns to think and act for himself, sometimes even resisting or defying parental authority, until one day, he becomes a parent himself.

In the spiritual realm, however, when a soul is reborn, it becomes a child of God—not of any human parent—and God takes on the role of the Eternal Father. Instead of small, isolated family units, the whole human race gradually becomes one great family in Him, forming circles of closer or more distant relationships, all within the greater unity of God’s love.

In this transformation, we lose nothing of true value—only the artificial bond of family, which is often superficial, limiting, or even burdensome. And what we gain is far greater.

The bond between Vaone and me is now stronger and deeper than the relationship of mother and son ever was.

We will never forget what we once were to each other, but the physical separation that once defined us has disappeared.

Just as the love we now share is greater, sweeter, and stronger than anything I could have imagined, so is the joy and fulfillment it brings. My cup is fuller and more satisfying than I ever thought a mother’s love could be.

So, if Paradise has taken away one cherished illusion, it has rewarded me with a reality far more beautiful and fulfilling than anything I had ever dared to hope for. Truly, "What God has prepared for those who love Him" is far beyond what any human expectation or desire could ever comprehend.

I learned and understood these two lessons in the joy of being reunited with the one I had mourned and searched for so long.