The nuns in the hospice for the dying assured her God was waiting to greet her. Bridget was infatuated by God the father, son and Holy Spirit. What a monumental prospect! She felt her life-force being drawn up to her eyes and through these eyes she beheld a balmy light, at the foot of the bed which grew dazzling, fascinating, irresistibly so, and when she gazed into the light she saw a figure, and it was a figure she knew, that excited her, that inspired her.
It was her Jesus in his luminous raiment, resurrected in all his glory, holding out his arms to her in the most welcoming of welcomes. “Father” she tried to pronounce. But earthly words were no longer of her domain. Gingerly, she detached the oxygen apparatus which was hooked to her nose, concentrating on the vision lest he escape, lest something block her. Her Jesus had come; death was a friend.
The storyline of the book is, at the moment of dying, each person sees the vision which inspires them and is stored in their subconscious throughout life.
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