I got to Heaven and looked around to see if I might recognize my child’s countenance among the angels. But nothing. All the faces were the same, cast from the same mold. So I asked. One of those saints came over and, without saying a word, buried one of his hands in my gut as if he had buried it in a ball of wax. When he pulled it out, he showed me something that looked a bit like a nutshell. “Take this as proof of what you are being shown.”
