His name was Rudy. And he died. And he left behind my grandchildren, Brayden and Harley. They are far too young to have to learn the hard lessons of life, but as is often the case, this lesson was thrust upon them.

Thankfully, they don't have to bear their loss alone. Their mom and dad are here to walk with them through this, their first valley of the shadow of death. But I can almost hear their plaintive question, "Is Rudy in heaven?"

Oh, that's one of the tough questions. Dogs in heaven? Isn't heaven for people and people for heaven" It's not for dogs, is it?

My knowledge of heaven is non-experiential. I haven't been there yet. I'm still sojourning here, in this period of eternity, an ongoing experience my husband, Danny calls "boot camp."

However, I know there is a heaven. And I know that I am heaven-bound. Jesus promised. And he keeps his word, even though I so often fail to do even that small thing.

When the children were small, I was equally small in faith and when they would ask about heaven, I'm ashamed to admit, I played it down a bit. I didn't want them longing for it more than they longed for life, here with me. I couldn't bear the thought of life without them so I feared telling them all of the wonders of heaven, for fear that they would somehow hurry past me to get there.

Shame on me. It was a matter of trusting God, and clearly, I didn't.

Randy Alcorn writes in his book "Heaven" that "The best of life on Earth is a glimpse of Heaven; the worst of life is glimpse of Hell."

Think about your best moment, best hour, best day. Heaven. Just a taste, a tingle on the tongue of your soul, a taste of a home yet to come.

Now, think about your worst moment, your worst hour, your worst day. Hell. Pain and torment, a blister on the tongue of your soul.

We have all tasted both heaven and hell.

The taste of heaven is so very fleeting. Those moments of sublime contentment, when we and everyone around us is smiling, no harsh words, no underlying tensions, fear a forgotten foe, even if just for a moment.

Most of us can also attest that our glimpses of hell are far too frequent and seem to last, well, for an eternity. A hope denied. A battle waged against death itself. Excruciating pain. A heart so broken our tears are like drops of blood, with no one to staunch the flow.

Perhaps this is one of the purposes of pain, of heartache, of bitter tears that can find no comfort. Surely this is one of the purposes of those brief moments when all truly is "well with our souls," when we know "peace like a river," when our eyes see only the beauty and none of the ashes in this old world.

Because of these two disparate realities in which we all live, we do not have to pick a door as in the fable of old, not knowing if a lady or a tiger waits on the other side.

The choice before us is plain, just as it was before the children of Israel when Moses admonished them, just before his death, with this word from the Lord, "This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live." (Deuteronomy 30:19)

Alcorn, in his book (which I highly recommend), continues, "For Christians, this present life is the closest they will come to Hell. For unbelievers, it is the closest they will come to Heaven."

So, Brayden and Harley, because God is good, because every good thing you'll ever know or see, comes from God, I'm sure Rudy is in heaven, happily bouncing along the fence line, well-loved and well-tended, knowing somehow, someday, in God's good and perfect timing, he'll see you, coming home.

Just don't hurry past me to get there.

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away." Revelation 21:1 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven:

Pet cemeteries