Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Sixteen. Come Up Higher.

If an angel had visited me on Earth—and by angel, I don’t mean the kind and selfless people we often call "angels in disguise," but a real, shining, orthodox angel with bright robes and snowy wings—and told me that I had so many friends across all of creation, I would have found it hard to believe. But by now, I was starting to understand how little a person truly knows about themselves while on Earth.

If someone could just get a brief glimpse of reality as it truly is, they would be humbled beyond measure. Their faith would no longer rest in a lifeless creed but in a real, living, ever-present God, and their prayer would be: "Lead Thou me on."

If such a revelation came upon them suddenly—like a tidal wave, just as the memories of my sleep-life had returned to me—it would wash away all forms of tyranny, oppression, and selfishness. It would take only one glimpse, one experience, one moment of true understanding, and humanity’s unity would be fully realized, making the brotherhood of man an undeniable reality forever.

Until now, I had never been able to truly call anyone my friend—not because I didn’t long for it (God knows how deeply I suffered from loneliness), but because life simply didn’t allow it. The people who, by status, might have been my friends saw me as an eccentric, someone barely fit to live freely in society, a man without any real interest in what they considered the proper pursuits of life, obsessed with what they thought was a strange, unhealthy passion for spending time among the poor. With my deep dislike for hypocrisy, how could I have ever found genuine friendship among such people?

I could have bought the company of a hundred so-called friends from the vast number who sell their companionship for money.

But insincere praise and shallow flattery are no nourishment for a hungry soul, and the chains of that kind of relationship are no less degrading just because they are made of gold.

Perhaps I might have found true and meaningful friendships among the poor in the alleys and hidden places where I spent so much time. And, secretly, I did feel glimpses of what that could have been. But society, with its rigid barriers that forbid true human brotherhood, stood in the way.

I wasn’t really afraid for myself, but openly acknowledging such friendships—on top of all my other "eccentricities"—would have provided just the missing piece of evidence needed to declare me unfit for society. The walls of some private "house of retirement" would have quickly put an end to the little bit of sunshine I was able to bring to those miserable places. There was no doubt about it—I was friendless in life. It was my burden to bear, a sad and heavy one, but I tried to carry it as best I could. And I found that the weight of my loneliness grew lighter when I became a friend to those even less fortunate than myself.

That deep, aching loneliness—was it simply the earthly echo of the friendships I had been enjoying every night in this other life? How beautifully the compensation of this world worked to heal the wounds of the other! Here, I had so many friends, spanning both sides of life, that I couldn’t even make a plan to visit them all without becoming overwhelmed. Eventually, I decided to let things unfold naturally.

There was one building in the city that held a special meaning for me, so I turned my attention there first. It was a gathering place for the street children—the homeless boys who, in big cities, scraped together a meager living selling newspapers and matches. They called it "The College."

Many nights, I had spent time in this place, watching the joy and wonder on their faces as they embraced the comforts provided here to make up for the suffering of their earthly lives. Each visitor had their own story to tell, and I would listen to the endless stream of experiences they eagerly shared.

Here, too, it was rare for a night to pass without at least one bright spirit from a higher realm coming to minister to these little, hungry, ragged wanderers. When they came, the hardships of the children’s earthly lives were always the main topic of discussion. The angelic teacher would patiently and lovingly explain to them how "these light afflictions, which last only for a moment, are preparing for them an eternal glory far greater than anything they could imagine." He would work tirelessly to teach them acts of kindness and selflessness—the very traits that, even in the midst of their suffering, often defined how these children treated one another.

People wonder where these street children, raised in poverty and hardship, learn such acts of kindness and compassion—acts so pure in motive that they put so-called Christian charity to shame. Where do they learn to help carry each other’s burdens? Where are they first taught to truly live by the Golden Rule? I can answer that question.

They are taught in the elementary schools of heaven, where they are called while their bodies sleep in dark corners, doorways, under barrels, carts, or in the outhouses of your so-called Christian city.

Angels, who have come to understand the deepest secrets of God’s love, meet these despised and forgotten children there. They teach them about the home that awaits them and show them the safest path to reach the rest that is still theirs to claim. How could their bare, frostbitten feet ever climb the sharp and icy cliffs of your cold theology, while the harsh winds of judgment and condemnation rage around them? They would slip, they would fall, and their little souls would be left shattered at the base of some cliff of religious debate—they could never reach heaven by such a path.

But don’t worry—the angels know the way. Through the lessons they receive while dreaming, these little pilgrims are journeying homeward through the green meadows of patient love, guided by Jesus—the one who was once an outcast himself. You don’t need to worry about their salvation just because they don’t fit into your narrow religious standards.

When you finally arrive in heaven, you will find many of these children—children you once ignored—waiting there to sing you a heartfelt “Welcome Home.”

As I walked through the tapestries hanging across the entrance, a hundred joyful voices greeted me. In an instant, I was surrounded by a group of eager friends, all wanting to embrace me. Here, there was no need for restraint; I could scoop up the happy children in my big, clumsy arms, kiss them, and shower them with affection as much as I wanted—because here, weren’t we all truly brothers and sisters?

It was almost unbelievable that these laughing, joyful children were the same ones who, just an hour or two earlier, had been struggling through the crowded city streets, their stomachs empty, their bodies shivering, desperately pleading with indifferent passersby to buy a newspaper or a box of matches, hoping to earn enough for a meal. Yet, here they were.

I couldn’t help but wonder—what if one of those impatient people, who had brushed a child aside without a thought, could see beyond the veil? What if they understood that in just one short hour, that same ragged, neglected child would be in the company of God’s angels, in the land of compensation? If only people knew the truth about the blessings these children received at night to make up for their suffering during the day, how different things might be! What a connection could be built between the two worlds!

But then, I had to ask myself—if their suffering were relieved, would that also mean their compensation would have to stop? Would helping their bodies come at the cost of their souls' rewards? If so, the price would be too great. No, that must not happen! God knows best. But still, let no one think that the existence of this compensation justifies neglecting those in need. God provides to make up for human failure, but those who turn a blind eye will have to answer for it one day.

There is another side to these reunions, one that is just as beautiful, if not even more so.

The former companions of these children—those who have already passed on—come to meet them again, helping and encouraging their less fortunate friends. It is deeply moving to listen to them describe the joys of their new life and compare it to the hardships their friends still endure. Their words bring hope to those who struggle. Questions are asked about why certain things happened, why life seems so unfair—but the young immortal simply smiles and says, “It will all be all right. It has to be all right. And when you get here (and that won’t be long now), we’ll look back together and see how it all worked out.”

And so, they are comforted. Strength and hope are poured into their weary hearts, giving them the courage to carry the burdens that might otherwise crush them.

I had barely finished greeting everyone when the curtains were drawn back again, and another visitor entered, causing even more excitement than my arrival. At first, I didn’t recognize him, but then I realized it was Arvez—the one who had carried my little charge from my arms when I lay on the slopes.

I also remembered that he had visited The College several times before, and suddenly, I understood the reason for his visit.

The passing of a person from the physical world is always known in advance on this side, whether it happens by accident or illness. At that moment, the results of their life can be seen, their soul’s condition as they enter the afterlife is known, and their first home in the new world is prepared. From then on, during sleep, the soul is brought here to become familiar with its future home before leaving the body for good. This was Arvez’s mission, and everyone in the room knew it. All eyes were on him. Every child pushed forward, eager to be near him. On every face was the silent question: Is it me?

When Arvez finally selected the boy he had come for, a subtle wave of disappointment seemed to pass over the other faces. But who could blame them? They all knew that the suffering, hunger, and hardship of the chosen one would soon be over, while they had no idea how much longer their own struggles would last.

Still, they showed incredible courage as a joyful cry broke out from one of the boys who knew him well.

"It’s Limpy Jack! But I’m almost as happy as if it were me!"

There was no sign of any injury or deformity to explain why his friend had called him Limpy Jack, but that didn’t surprise me. I had already learned that the flaws of the body do not carry over to the soul.

As soon as the decision was made, the group stepped aside to let the boy go to Arvez. Arvez lifted him into his arms, congratulated him, and kissed him, at which another cheer rang out, filling the room with excitement. That kiss was the seal of death upon his forehead—a sign that would also appear on his physical body so that those on earth could recognize that he would soon be called to heaven.

The boy who had announced his name followed as he stepped forward. When the cheering quieted, he looked up at Arvez and asked:

"Is he coming soon?"

"Very soon—as soon as we can bring him away," Arvez replied kindly.

"Jack, you won’t forget us when you come, will you?"

"Of course not! Won’t I keep coming here just like I do now? Of course, I will!"

"All right, Jack. I’ll trust you. And when I wake up, I’ll try to remember that you’re coming, and I’ll look out for you until you do."

"God bless you," Arvez said warmly as he gently patted the faithful little head. Then he turned away, carrying the boy to see his new home.

Curious to know where they were going, I moved toward the door where Arvez had paused for a moment.

"Where are you taking him?" I asked.

"To the home of a sister who is not entirely unknown to you. Would you like to come with us?"

"I would love to," I replied. "But will he stay with her permanently?"

"For now. He needs guidance and instruction, and she will take on that responsibility."

We traveled a great distance, but moving through the air was not tiring in the least. The journey was made pleasant by listening to the endless questions from the boy, which Arvez answered with unwavering patience. There was no need for me to speak, as every answer given to Jack was full of insight for me as well. More than once, I was amazed at the care and kindness with which Arvez responded to questions that, on earth, would have tested even the most patient person.

As we passed several large and beautiful cities, both Jack and I marveled at their splendor. Every sight was another promise of the joys that awaited me when I would have the chance to explore each place at leisure and absorb the endless wisdom available here.

I could not help but wonder if these were the original inspirations for the great cities of earth—Rome, Athens, Carthage, Babylon, Thebes, and Nineveh—all of which once flourished in their prime.

Press on, weary soul. Though your feet may never touch the sacred places you long for on earth, though your tear-filled eyes may never behold the land your heart calls home, your every hope and desire await you here, in an even more glorious form, where eternal light shines forever.

The Jewish pilgrim who never set foot on the Mount of Olives, the devout Muslim who never glimpsed the mosques of Mecca, the faithful Catholic who never laid eyes on the Vatican, the Christian who dreamed of walking the streets of Bethlehem or climbing the hill of Calvary—all who have longed for a holy place where they might worship with reverence—take heart. When love has purified your soul, when your hands have grown gentle through kindness, when the light of compassion shines in your eyes, and when your spirit is clothed in charity and forgiveness—

When Christ is truly born within you, and you have been transformed through trial and grace—you will reach a destination far greater than the one you sought. You will find fulfillment beyond your hopes, in the home where your soul will finally be satisfied as it awakens in His likeness.