The parable of, "Prep for after death courtroom"

I just finished Howdie Mickoski’s book, “Exit the Cave”. Very interesting book that I recommend to my readers.

I even did one post about it already, and placed it in my Gnosticism section.

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This post is about a NDE (Near Death Experience) that Howdie discussed in his book. People can read many such accounts on the website www.nderf.org, which is dedicated to such NDE stories. Direct access to this particular NDE available below:

I will manually copy and paste the pertinent section. Then I will explain why this after death courtroom battle between Kate, God, and Satan, intrigued me.

The NDE:

I remember being dragged into a beautiful courtroom that resembled a Coliseum. It began as I was drifting off, maybe from loss of blood (I slit my arm quite deeply, lost a lot of blood). I felt as though energy was being pulled out of me from my face and then my chest. I remember thinking I was convulsing but my body was still. It felt like my energy or substance was being pulled forcefully out of my body. But I experienced no tunnel I just found myself in that huge courtroom. Be forewarned, I have experienced an unusually and painful life. If you have a weak stomach do not read:

The courtroom was elegantly laid out, its design both impressive and elegant. The furnishings were distinguished and old world, crafted by talented artisans and constructed of materials resembling alabaster and marble. The Judge’s luminous bench towered over everything else in the room, and reflected the authority of the One who presided over it.

Outwardly, transparent glass covered the floors, reflecting back every object in the room with startling precision. In any other circumstance, the space would feel cold and unfeeling but flush warmth radiated from every surface.

I could no longer conceal my anger. Without thinking I started yelling about the injustices that had robbed me of wholeness all of my life.

'You said my dad was adversely affected and started to worry about how much time he would lose from work because of me? It’s his fault! If he was worrying about anything, it was that his dirty little secret might come out! Where were you? The first time I was molested I was four years old. Violently molested, held down against my will and violated! Four! Where were you then?'

My hands covered my mouth with lightning speed. Had I really just yelled at the Judge, at God, Creator of the Heavens and the Universe? I waited in horror to be smote to ash and dust.

No lightning bolts blazed from his eyes, no hate came from his lips. I remained where I was in the Judgment Seat, no ash, fire, or flame. 'Look at me'; his voice was low and gentle.

'I can’t,' I squeaked. I was too ashamed and too afraid to move.

'You can,' he said in a soothing voice, engendering so much love and trust to me in that moment. He reached over the bench with his hand and gave me his strength. 'Look at me,' he urged again.

When my shallow and tear-soaked eyes met his, I saw that moment of violation from his view. I saw his heart swell to its brink with torture and pain. I saw the Creator of the Universe cry out with pain. He reached out through time and distance toward me, and took my little hand in his. In that moment of violation, he sent his love and his comfort radiating through my little four year-old body. His giant hand, so full of light and radiance, dwarfed my smallness. We endured that moment together, the Creator and I, both tear-soaked and full of heart wrenching pain. Through my weakness, he gave me His own strength.

There was a sinister being there too. The Prosecutor. He was a smartly dressed, lawyerly type. He was a ruthless and hateful sort of individual, but brilliant at his work. He knew things people had said, hidden things that even the best criminal thought they had kept concealed. This person had a way to dig up and divulge everything. His guilty plea success rate was one hundred percent. He reduced the shamefully convicted to a blithering and infantile state of mind, destroyed by his accurate facts and intense accusations. By the end of their trials, every single one of them had gone insane.

I sat waiting my judgment and I was cowering under the weight of his legend. He sat across from me, professional and polished. His well-tailored suit hugged cleanly to every part of his lifeguard-like physique. He was deceptively beautiful, towering, and robust. His outward appearance fabricated a false sense of security, as though he could be counted on when everyone else had betrayed you. His hair was unexpectedly blonde, and his hands and face were resplendent. Only his eyes betrayed the abstruse reality of who he really was. They were an intense, fiery grey ignited in perpetual flame by the passion of his profession.

A sinister grin crept over the Prosecutor's face. Everything I had heard about his lust for guilt was true and then some. 'Your Honor, the Defendant is guilty of several counts of murder. I would like to present the list of victims to the Court now, for Judgment.' He was holding a thick, brown file in his hand. He walked over to the bench and handed it to the Judge.

In a move even Michael Jordan wouldn't have been able to get around my hand shot up. The Judge didn't even look up from reviewing the file.

'Yes?'

'I definitely object. I couldn't have possibly killed that many people. Not only would I have noticed but I'm pretty sure the police and the newspapers would have mentioned a serial killer.'

'Duly noted.'

I continued without even skipping a beat. 'I mean, who exactly did I kill? How did I kill them? What weapons did I use? What did I do with all of those bodies?'

I was sure my outburst would do little to convince the Judge of my innocence but I was beside myself. What kind of circus was this?

The Judge, now exasperated, read from the file. 'It says here, you bit Annette on her forearm on October 18, 1975 at 11:48 am on the Central Elementary School Playground'

'And she died from that? I don't think she died from that! I was outraged and confused.

'Why did you bite her?'

'Are you serious right now? Why did I bite her? I asked if she died from that bite and you want to know why I bit her. I'm pretty sure she was at school the next day.'

The Judge waited.

'I was in the second grade!' I protested. Still silent, He waited. 'I object on the grounds that Annette didn't die from my bite.' I was disgusted. My impassioned remarks caused the Judge to glare abrasively over the bench at me. I knew instantly I was out of line although I didn't quite know what for.

'Annette didn't die from your bite. You did.'

'Excuse me?'

The Prosecutor grinned. He had me right where he wanted me. Snowballed and blindsided in between a rock and a wall. I would never be able to beat him if I didn’t understand how to play his game. He waited with quiet satisfaction for the Judge to explain.

'Do we agree on the definition of law?' the Judge asked me. I actually wasn’t sure but didn’t know how to say so.

'It’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question,' the Prosecutor suggested with a smug grin. I visualized his fiery eyes being doused by water, but it didn’t help. I sighed.

'No. We do not agree on the definition of law because I obviously don’t understand. This whole thing seems ridiculous. I’m not that bad a person.'

The Prosecutor pounced viciously. 'Really? Then why do we have such extensive files and charges against you?' He motioned to the tables behind him. Boxes and boxes of brown-clad files sat on top and underneath several felt-lined tables.

'What's in all those boxes?'

'Evidence. One hardly commits a lifetime of crime and has little to show for it. 'Store ye up your treasures' and all. There's your treasure, all stored up and waiting for you.'

I looked back at the Judge. 'I don't understand any of this.'

'You understand more than you realize,' the Judge offered sympathetically. 'Only time and trial will determine if you used that knowledge well. If you are to successfully argue your case before this court, there are matters of definition which must be settled on,' the Judge informed me.

His statement a little more than shocked me. 'You mean you actually want me to win?'

'How can there be any doubt?' he asked me in a tone that betrayed a shock of his own.

'What he means to say,' the Prosecutor interjected swiftly, 'is that he feels you need every advantage possible. His eyes narrowed for hostile effect.

I looked back at the Judge fearing the Prosecutor’s statement might contain a hidden truth. His stare bore deep into the recesses of the Prosecutor’s eyes but he spoke directly to me. 'Never believe the serpent who twisted my truth to steal my joy from me.'

'You mean the Garden of Eden?' I asked with trepidation.

The Judge’s severe look softened as he focused his gentle gaze on me again. 'The gift of insight I gave you has served you well in the past. Keep true to that now. And yes, I was referring to Eve.'

The Prosecutor smoothed his suit once again. 'Back to the definition of law,' he snorted.

'I guess I don’t understand what the definition of law is by the Judge’s meaning,' I said, my response did little to hide my sarcasm.

'Law is a binding rule of conduct recognized by a community as binding or enforceable by an authority. Are we in agreement on this point?'

'Yes. I think so.' I really didn’t know. I wanted to stall to see if I could work a murder loophole into that definition of law.

'What confuses you?'

'Who is the authority and who decides the rules of conduct?' The answer was swift and left me without plan or recourse.

'I AM the authority. I decide the rules of conduct. I AM.'

I paused now, more so to think than to stall. 'I see. So if you create a law then everyone has to obey that law just because you think we should. This is your explanation of how I killed someone by a bite even though I was only a little kid?'

'By biting Annette you hurt her. When you hurt someone else, you diminish the condition of fellowship that all people need to grow. Most seeds will die or get too weak to be much good when you take away their water, soil, or sunlight. Likewise, a person will die or become too weak to be much good when certain things like fellowship are diminished or choked entirely. Does that make sense to you?'

It bothered me how much it made sense but at that moment, I didn’t care about making sense. I wanted an excuse, any excuse, to make things work out in my favor. I knew where he was going with this and I knew I would not have any excuse for any event in my life. I really didn’t fully grasp the murder part so I thought I would work that angle for a moment.

'So how does the murder charge thing work? How do you jump from a bite to murder? I’m not sure I get that.'

'Being angry with someone is the same as murdering someone as stated in Matthew Chapter 5:22. Un-forgiveness is like taking away from a seed its sunlight. As sunlight nourishes a seed so that it might grow, forgiveness nourishes a man’s soul. When you become so angry that you act on that anger or fail to forgive you are robbing yourself of nourishment but you are also robbing your neighbor of nourishment as well.’

'If that’s the case then I have been angry at lots of people. But does that mean I’m guilty of murdering all of them? I just don’t get that part.'

'What does the word murder mean? Is this by your definition or by mine, because your definition seems way out there?'

'Ok, by your definition. We’ll start there.'

'I don’t know, to kill someone?'

'Ok. What happens if you kill them?'

This had to be a trick question. I thought it best to answer slowly. 'Uh,…they die.'

'Ok, by your own definition, murder leads to death, correct?'

'I know this will come back to bite me, but yes, murder leads to death.'

When the moment was past, he spoke to me again. 'You hated me for years because you knew in your heart that I was there. You thought I should have done something but you don’t realize that I did. I bore the brunt of your pain in that moment. I carried you through it, allowing you to experience only a part of the pain.

’Betrayals such as these, they kill completely. Seeds are planted from moments like that and choke the life from every part of your being. They grow quickly and spread like a cancer to your soul. You are right. You were only four years old. I was there. I was there to protect the child whom I loved from another’s sin of disobedience, the sin of someone’s sickness.

’One of my laws is free will. I cannot break my own laws. I cannot control the thoughts, actions, and minds of others. Were that the case all would love and worship me but it would be meaningless. However, in that moment, in all of those moments, I also gave you the gift of me. That if you would seek me I could get you through anything. There is no travesty so great that the hand of the Living God cannot bear the load of it for all Eternity. I let you know that if you seek me, you will find me. In my hands, there is strength. I saved you that day from total demise.'

I was sobbing uncontrollably now. I felt like a four year old, imploring at the wonders of the universe and then shown that awful act of hate. I felt so small. I saw all of those awful moments from my childhood, each one frozen in time, robbing me of my value and self-worth. Each one an entire movie stilled down to just one frame but still revealing in entirety. I watched the montage of vile perversion and ruin echoing painful torment as I was violated throughout my childhood, first by a family friend, then by my father, and lastly by my older brother. It seemed a never-ending cycle of abuse, misuse, and betrayal. In each scene, I saw myself die a little inside, a little part of my soul ripped away.

Where I had felt so alone and unprotected in each moment of abuse, I now saw the whole picture. He lent me his eyes, his views – and worse – his heart. I felt the ache in the very depth of his soul as he felt the violation with me. I had never known that the Judge had experienced my pain with me, his soul as raped and shattered as my own had been.

He had been there all along, his hand ever present holding mine, his strength replacing what I lacked. He reached through time, distance, and space to give me his shelter and his comfort. He leaned over and whispered into my fragile and breaking spirit a simple word that shattered the darkest moments of my life. 'Hope,' was all he said. Every time he spoke it, the light grew brighter and brighter until it could not be quenched by the darkness which sought to consume it.

He spoke again, not words of judgment, but words of truth. 'You let the darkness define you instead of my strength and light. Why did you do that?'

'What mark was I supposed to hit?'

'I have explained that already,' he said.

'Yes, I know. I was supposed to love you with all of my body, spirit, mind, and soul and to love my neighbor as I loved myself. Two things come to mind. First, what happens when no one showed me how to love my neighbor? Who is to blame then? What if I hated myself? In that scenario, wouldn’t I have succeeded at both of your expectations?' I asked. I was proud of myself for finally finding a loophole in the Judge’s definition.

'Tell me how you could hate yourself when you were created in my image and after my likeness?' the Judge questioned.

The answer rolled off my tongue all too easily. 'No one ever treated me like I was created in your image. How was I supposed to know I mattered? How was I supposed to treat anyone different from the way they treated me?'

Pretty much the whole NDE was like that, parts of my life came up and God (or who I understood to be God) explained (more like I somehow knew vs. showed) what had really happened. The end of my NDE is as follows (again, taken from my writing and yes, I know it's cheesy, but you asked and I know of no better way to describe it that would do it justice. BTW, now I'm squaring off with someone identified as Jesus):

‘I did’. It was a moment of brokenness and personal defeat. I was taken to the last moment of my life when I tried in vain to assuage the overwhelming pain and guilt by ending my life. The Prosecutor and courtroom seemed to melt away around me.

I had just finished writing the letter. I was curled up and broken, as bright red blood stained the sheet on my bed, forming a small, but thick pool beneath me. I was astonished at how quickly it flowed out of the gash I had just created on my arm.

I had intended to do myself harm. I had intended to die and had cut long and deep. I watched in dreadfulness as blood came pouring out of the new wound. In that moment, I realized the seriousness of what I had done. I realized all too late that I did not want to die. Not like this. I couldn’t get the blood to stop pouring from my arm. Jesus reached down to me from a distance again, this time his hand dug deep inside my chest and gave my hurting heart an embrace of tenderness. I felt the slightest easing of turmoil and hurt.

'Ice it,' whispered hope through the pain.

I leapt up from the bed and ran to the freezer. Two huge, melting cubes stuck to her arm and I watched as my blood turned thin and cold.

It seemed to take a lifetime to slow the bleeding, just enough so I could ascertain the damage I had inflicted upon myself. I sighed wearily knowing it would need stitches. I did not know how or if my arm would be able to heal without them. I had isolated myself on purpose and had no way to get help.

I curled up on the bed again, resolved to fall asleep, not knowing if I would live or die. Shivering and afraid I whispered in the darkness, 'Jesus, if you can hear me, forgive me for everything I have done. Forgive me of my sins and my weaknesses. Please come into my heart. Please let me live!'

Back in the courtroom, my mind raced quickly. I had no further memories. That had to have been the last act of my life.

'Not the last, but the first,' Jesus said, reading my thoughts and responding to them aloud.

'What?' I asked with confusion.

'I brought you here so that having eyes, you might see. Having ears, you might hear. I have heard and granted your request. I shall live in your heart every day from now on. Your hands shall be mine and your words will come from my heart. I will heal your wounds. For greatly have you forgiven. This day forgiveness has been measured back to you, and greatly have you been forgiven.'

I fell to my knees shaking. 'I don’t deserve forgiveness. I’m so sorry.'

'In one act of mercy, you kept the greatest commands I gave. Love the Lord thy God with all of your heart, body, mind, and soul. You learned to love your neighbor as you love yourself; that was loving me. You learned that you are nothing without me but with me, you are everything. When you spared your own life, you showed me that you loved yourself. When you asked me into your heart, you loved me. No matter how many debts you have had, you are forgiven. All you had to do was ask,' He said smiling. 'Go now, and sin no more.'

I watched Him slowly fade away as Jesus covered my bloodstained suicide letter in his own blood and grace. He used a single, old nail to tack that letter to the front of boxes of sin. Written boldly in his blood was the word 'forgiven.'

I woke up to blackness but my eyes opened to light. The blood on the sheet beneath me was still thick and moist. My arm had stopped bleeding and I knew that he had sent his hand down to heal me yet again. As I moved to get up and clean my arm, I felt the notebook I had used for my suicide letter crinkle beneath me.

The suicide letter I had written was completely covered by a thin, red blot. It was lighter than my blood, so much so, that I carefully examined the blot’s substance. Cautious scrutiny revealed it was red ink from the pen I had written the note with. It had exploded over the letter, saturating it completely. Only the embossing of my desperate and foolish words was left. Jesus had indeed covered me completely.

I felt his hand again, like an old friend bringing joy to warm a weary soul. 'Get up and write,' he urged. I didn’t know how or what to write about but this time I did not raise my hand to ask. In faith, I simply turned the notebook over to a new page and followed Jesus's command. My heart came pouring onto the page until my hand became cramped and weary. Only then did I know I was finished.

As I read back over the words on the pages, I thought about the days and years I had devoted to pain instead of praise. His words came back to me: 'Every new day dawns with mercy.'

I realized as I read that what I had written was to my own soul. I had failed to show mercy to it the most. The revelation that I had hated myself more than I had anyone else caused a new flood of anguish to pour from my eyes. I had been my own first and last murder. I had cried out to the Lord many times with a painful offering of forgiveness for countless others but never extended it to myself.

I could feel his hand pull my heart through my chest and the warmth of his touch as he breathed in it. It was time to forgive myself. I felt new life surge through my body as Jesus gingerly placed my heart back inside. I clung to each beat as it pumped new hope through my veins.

'Jesus,' I whispered tearfully, 'if you can forgive me of all of those horrible things then I can forgive me too.'

For a moment, I saw Him, standing transparently in front of me. 'Love yourself as I have loved you. My burden is easy; my yolk is light. I don’t demand murder but I do demand sacrifice. Lay down your old life and follow me.' He vanished but I could still feel his touch.

Through swollen and tear-stained eyes, I looked down at my arm. The wound was long and deep but it would heal. I pondered how the events of my life had brought me to this point. The wounds might be long and deep, but for the first time in my life, I knew with certainty they would heal.

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So, I was intrigued with this account because of the specific religious references & ideas, which I can relate to. Also, she writes in a good narrative style, like she is writing fiction, something I like to do. I do sense her account is sincere. But, since I don’t see any vetting on the site, my initial reaction was that it could ALL be totally made up.

She admits to having written a book, and my suspicious mind jumped at me. “She’s just trying to promo her book, which is all made up crap”.

But then I assessed my own thinking. I am pretty sure that is just my own CEMSIC (Carnal-Ego-Mind-Soul-Identification-Complex) knee-jerk reaction, as negativity & skepticism is my first thought often. She wrote this account years later, and since she is an author, a well-written account does NOT automatically mean it is fake. Again, I suggest my readers check her full story out at the button below, because she gives context as to WHY she tried to commit suicide and other NDE details.

Finally, her NDE reminded me of a similar parable I wrote about God, Jesus, and Satan in a courtroom battle. But, of course, I admit my story is purely a creative way to present ideas in a fictional story, out of my imagination, and NOT due to a NDE. :-)

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I’ll make a point of asking Kate D in the next life, assuming I can exit the cave this time, if her story was totally made up. I’ll be sure to write a post here, using my ghostly hand, to let my readers know the answer.

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