I look back at my life, all 64 years, eleven months and twelve days of it, and wonder where the time has gone. Did I make good use of it? Do I have to account for my time here on Earth? Will I have to prove that I accomplished something worthwhile?

I picture myself arriving at the “Pearly Gates.” A stern-faced angel sits at a massive wooden table with a giant ledger. His feathered wings are huge and quiver slightly as he writes in The Book. He looks at me over the edge of the leather-bound volume, puts his quill pen down, and intones, “Sharon, what did you accomplish in the time that was given to you?”

There’s a long pause as I gather my thoughts. What should I tell him?

“Well,” I begin, “I spent seventeen years going to school. Then I got married, and we moved around a lot to different Naval Bases, adopted two kids, then moved back to Minnesota.”

The angel clears his throat. “And all that took how long?”

Wait a minute; he’s the one who’s supposed to know all about me. He’s got The Book right in front of him. Did someone forget to keep notes? Can I make something up? Will he figure it out? What if I lie and he puts a really big black mark after my name? What happens then?

“Well, when our second child was two years old, I went back to teaching. I did that for twenty-one years, and since then I’ve been attending college.” There, I’m all caught up and it’s the truth. Will he let me through the Gates now?

“So, you measure your time on Earth by either going to school or teaching school. Do I have that straight?” He picks up his pen and begins to write.

“Wait,” I don’t want him to summarize my life so coldly. I want him to write events that really mean something. “I always tried to make things better for my children and for the children I worked with at school. I tried to be a good person.”

The Gates begin to glow softly with an inner light. The colors vibrate ever so slowly between rosy pink and lavender blue. I find myself drawn to them but I can’t move.

“I was never cruel to animals. I followed the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule.” I want to say that I helped old ladies across the street and found lost puppies, but that would have been too weird.

The angel looks up from his writing. “And you expect those things to open the Gates?” Once again he puts down his pen. His silvery, white wings seem to droop a bit.

“What do you want me to say? Those are the Rules your Boss said we had to follow in order to get through The Gates. Don’t you have a record of my life? Doesn’t someone always watch us to see when we are good or bad? And I don’t mean Santa Claus!”

Off in the distance I hear a low thrumming and rumbling. The sound seems to be getting a little louder and a little bit closer. “What’s that?” I ask the angel.

“Nothing that concerns you now,” he looks carefully at the open book. He turns to a previous page, running his index finger back and forth over the lines of writing on the page. “I see that you’ve tried very hard to always do the right thing. Weren’t you ever tempted to break one of the Commandments?” He looks up at me and raises one eyebrow.

Aaah, now we’re getting somewhere, I think. This is what my catechism teacher tried to drill into our heads. She’d say, “Just thinking about doing something evil is just as bad as actually doing it.” Man, talk about a guilt trip! You get mad at your mother and wish she’d disappear because she made you take care of your stinky brother instead of spending the afternoon reading a good book and ZAP! you have a black mark after your name in The Book!

“But she promised I could have time to finish my book!” I feel tears coming but I don’t want to cry in front of this angel who seems to hold my fate in his hands. “I did what she told me to, anyway! That’s not bad enough to keep me out, is it?” The Gates seem farther away and the rumbling was softer now.

“Sharon, please listen to me. You’ve led a good, decent life. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Sometimes people get the wrong idea about this Book. It’s not here to be a record of your sins. It’s here to let you have an honest look at your life and how you used your time on Earth. Too many people go through life just ‘marking time’ as they say. We go through their pages with them to let them know that they grew and evolved over time. It’s really very simple when you think about it.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place? You had me really worried!” The Gates seem to be glowing a little clearer and I can actually feel the rumbling now. “What happens now?”

“Sharon,” the angel closes The Book and puts his pen on the massive table. “We don’t usually do this, but I have the authority to send you back. We need people like you. We feel you can make a difference in many lives. There are children who need help all over the world. How do you feel about that?”

I stare at him. My mouth is dry as cotton. My knees felt as if they will give way any minute. “You mean I have a choice? I can go back to my family? Have more time with them?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. We don’t feel you’re really done with your work on Earth. You can influence so many others to find their potential. You could volunteer at a school, or write compelling stories to brighten the lives of many people, the possibilities are endless. Do you want to go back?” His wings quiver and expand slightly, giving me the impression he might take flight at any moment.

“Of course I want to go back!” I can’t believe my good fortune. “How long can I stay?”

“That’s not for you to know. Oh, and by the way, you won’t remember being here. That’s one of the conditions. Are you ready?”

I stood very still. The glowing lights on the Gates begin to fade. The throbbing, rumbling sounds slowly die down. The angel rises from the table. I mean literally rises! His wings spread out from his body, slowly flapping up and down and lifting him higher and higher. I watch him as long as I can. I want to remember him and what he has told me.

Well, on my next birthday I will be 65. That’s old enough to apply for Social Security. Well, I hope I live long enough to spend plenty of the monthly checks. Let’s see, what was I doing a minute ago? Darn it, I’m getting so forgetful. Must be old age setting in. However, as my son says, “Don’t worry, Mom, you don’t have ‘Old-Timer’s Disease’ yet. Now get your homework done!” I know he’s right, and I’m so glad I decided to go back to college and study writing! Oh, and I have to call my friend, Pat, and take her up on her request to have me volunteer in her classroom. It will be wonderful to be around young people again.