Knock-Knock-Knockin' on Heaven's Door

In Heaven’s Waiting Room...

(An actual photograph of Heaven)

The place had Heaven written all over it. Not literally, because that would be like graffiti. But to the trained eye, the gates with inlaid Mikimoto Pearls said it all.

I think I belong here, I told myself, as long as they don’t find out about you-know-what.

Saint Peter: Welcome to the Pearly Gates, Mr. Basler. How was your trip?

Me: It seemed pretty sudden, I have to say.

Saint Peter: Well, of course it was. Do you remember your last words?

Me: Um, yeah, I do recall saying, “I don’t think you have the guts to pull that trigger!”

Saint Peter: Exactly. You weren’t the brightest color in the crayon box, were you? You know what I’m saying? You weren’t the sharpest knife in the drawer?

Me: Is that the way you all talk up here?

Saint Peter: Yes. Instead of just coming out and calling you a dimwit, I say something like, “You’re a few ants short of a picnic,” or “Your elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor.” It’s more fun.

Me: It sounds like you may have some smartasses up here? That surprises me.

Saint Peter: Of course! Contrary to popular belief, many smartasses wind up here. We have sarcasm, puns, word play, double entendres, limericks, haiku, everything you like!

Me: Wow! These are my people! Say, is that harp music I hear?

Saint Peter: Indeed, it is.

Me: What’s that tune they’re playing? It sounds familiar.

Saint Peter: “Moon River.” It’s the only thing they play. Morning, noon and night.

Me: That’s very unfortunate. So, can you buzz me through these gates?

Saint Peter: Not so fast, Speedy Gonzales. You’re only in Heaven’s Waiting Room. I need you to fill out this questionnaire, so we can count up your sins. Give yourself a point for each one of these you didn’t commit.

Me: Gosh, this is a lot like those stupid data-mining Facebook quizzes!

Saint Peter: We had them first.

One Hour Later

Me: Okay, here’s my answer sheet. Now may I come in?

Saint Peter: Finished so soon? Let’s see what we have here. You never sang karaoke, never wore Crocs, never had a mullet haircut, never said, “anyhoo,” never went to Las Vegas… So far, so good…

Me: Okay, so am I good to go?

Saint Peter: I’ll tell you when. You seem a little nervous. Holy Moley!! This question here, number 242. It says, “Did you ever toss the Holy Bible into a dumpster?” and you checked yes!

Me: I can explain…

Saint Peter: This is very serious, Mr. Basler. How many times did you do that?

Me: Two or three…

Saint Peter: We can pull the video if we need to.

Me: Hundred. Two or three hundred times, I guess. Maybe more…

Saint Peter: Mr. Basler, you need to go get on that bus over there. The one with the Flaming Red H on the side. Hurry, it’s about to leave.

Me: The H is for Heaven?

Saint Peter: No.

Me: Please allow me to elaborate…

Saint Peter: Oh, sure, they all want to elaborate when they see the Flaming Red H. Make it quick.

Me: For years, I worked closely with the Santa Fe Animal Shelter. My wife and I fostered more than 150 kittens, as well as adult dogs and cats. I helped raise money for them by volunteering at their thrift shops.

Saint Peter: And?

(A small sampling of our Santa Fe fosters)

Me: We kept the shelves stocked with good merchandise by having a relationship with a big estate settlement service. We went to houses where people had died and took the stuff the estate people didn’t think they could sell.

Saint Peter: That must have been gross, going through dead people’s belongings?

Me: Yes, especially since most folks don’t know when they’re about to die. If they did, they would live a little differently, let me tell you. If I never have to go through another stranger’s dirty clothes bin…

Saint Peter: Ewwwww! You had to do that? Was that the worst thing?

Me: No, I think I hated dealing with the refrigerators even more. There would be a dozen jars of salad dressing, some of it moldy. Honestly, who needs that much salad dressing? I mean, we found jars that looked like bleu cheese dressing, but they didn’t start out that way, if you get the picture.

Saint Peter: Are you getting to the Bible part? There are other people waiting to get in here, folks who didn’t dumpster-chuck the Scriptures.

(A foster named Molly, recuperating at our house from a broken leg, 2017)

Me: I’m getting there. So, one thing we found in every home was books. Lots of them.

Saint Peter:  Actual books? In 2023?

Me: Well, this was Santa Fe, where everybody read a lot.

Saint Peter: So, you sold the books in your thrift shops?

Me: Yes. Our customers loved mysteries. Stieg Larsson, Stephen King, Ruth Rendell. I couldn’t shelve their stuff fast enough! People also bought lots of cookbooks. Really exotic cuisines, even though I knew they were just going to go home and make more enchiladas.

Saint Peter: So, what were they NOT buying?

Me: What they really, really, really didn’t want were used Bibles. It turns out – and maybe you already know this, being in the business - every family that needs a Bible already has one. Or several.

Saint Peter: Couldn’t you give them to libraries?

Me: Libraries already have them. They don’t want any more.

Saint Peter: Churches?

Me: Are you nuts? Churches are full of Bibles!

Saint Peter: So, what did you do?

Me: We threw them away. I felt horrible about it, but I didn’t have a choice. I guess I always knew someday I would pay the price.

Saint Peter: This is highly irregular. Wait in that pew over there and don’t touch anything. We have security cameras.

Ten Minutes Later

Saint Peter: Thank you for your patience, Mr. Basler. I just had a chat with The Boss.

Me: So, I guess it’s the old Flaming Red H bus for me, huh? I completely understand, believe me.

Saint Peter: No, He said to let you in and make you feel welcome.

Me: You’re kidding! And He knows what I did? What did he say?

Saint Peter: He said to me, “I know the Baslers. They always treated my creatures with kindness. All of Bob’s dogs and cats up here will be happy to see him again. Buzz him on in, and buy him a drink. You can put it on my tab.”