One’s in Heaven, and One’s in the Toilet!                                                  

By Neva Bodin

Our creature-loving daughter was about three when I bought her two goldfish. Goldfish never lasted long in our house. One time two died immediately after I brought them home and put them in a bowl filled with “spring fresh” bottled water! I used faucet water with some kind of treatment in it after that. They lived a little longer then.

Back to the two I mentioned in the first sentence: they died. My daughter wasn’t close by when I found the first one floating. I quickly flushed it down. When she noticed its absence, I told her it went to heaven.

A few days later I found the second one floating. I didn’t make it to the flushing ceremony without being observed at the last minute. So, I had to confess, the little fish was in the sewer system.

The next time we saw a close friend, my little daughter told her we didn’t have goldfish anymore. “One’s in heaven, and one’s in the toilet!” she announced, proud of her knowledge.

Growing up on the farm, I had many pets who died—bottle lambs, a baby duck, a small turtle I stepped on while playing the piano, a baby pig, the runt of the litter whom I rocked and fed but who didn’t make it. Death was part of life early in my upbringing.

The lambs were all buried under one certain tree, which grew much bigger than any of the others for some reason! The smaller animals were buried at the edge of a flower bed my sister planted at the base of our very tall wind charger. (Does anyone remember when we were powered by wind and big acid-filled batteries? That was before “rural electric” swept through the country making us dependent on monthly bills.) But I digress.

How do you explain death to a small child? I’m sure many of us have struggled with that, or perhaps we’ve known exactly what to say. I like to use the example of a butterfly. Turning from a crawling-only worm to a beautiful, colorful creature that can fly is quite a metamorphosis. It’s hard to recognize the creature that was tied to the dirt and which now may flit about and experience a freedom it never knew before.

I think my daughter’s statement summarizes what can happen when I die. I’ll be in the toilet, sucked down into a stinky, dark, vortex of misery, and my afterlife won’t be pleasant at all. Or I can believe Jesus is my Savior and I will be in heaven, maybe flitting around like a butterfly. The old, wrinkled, worm will be gone.

That is why we labor and strive, because we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all people, and especially of those who believe. 1 Timothy 4:10 (NIV)