itself. As he stepped through that door he was not in the least prepared for what he saw: the massive pillars and the glorious architecture. The sun was pouring through the stained glass windows and, as it so happened, the choir was there for choir practice. He had no more than stepped through the door when they burst into song. Between the beauty and the music, he just broke down and cried. That is how I think it will be when we die. We will go down that narrow corridor at the end of this life and as we step through that small door at the end, we will come into something so gloriously beautiful that we too may well break down and weep tears of joy. No cost or sacrifice will have been too great. Not to be able to pass through that door would be to miss life itself. d Stepping Through The Door
T he story is told about a man who took a trip to London, England. His tour group made a stop at Westminster Cathedral. The bus parked in the back parking lot and as they were entering through one of the back entrances he had to use the restroom. He quietly slipped away from the group. When he came out of the restroom, the whole tour group had moved on and he was lost. As he was wandering the back hallways of Westminster Cathedral, trying to figure out where his group had gone, he noticed a small hallway with a door at the end of it. For some reason he thought, “Just maybe they went through there.” As it turns out, that door was one of the side entrances into the cathedral
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