Is there room left in heaven?

Every now and then, my twisted mind pops out this question.

Now I’m going to be presumptuous here and think that despite the wrongs I’ve done in my life, I’ll have a decent chance to stand in front of the pearly gates when my time is up on earth.

Yet I have this fear of finding a “No Vacancy” sign hung on the gate when I get there. Hear me out for a second. The Population Reference Bureau reported that by 2050, 113 billion people will have lived and died, not counting the more than 7 and a half billion people who are projected to be alive that year. That means there are 15 dead people to every one living person, which suggests I’ll take the trip upstairs to a “Heaven Overload.”

That’s not counting the number of dogs (because all dogs go to heaven), other animals, insects, flowers and trees. Everything alive dies, and who’s to say that the first thing I see when I walk past the gate won’t be a tyrannosaurus rex?

For those who believe it’s not about physical beings squeezing themselves on every inch of every cloud because we somehow vaporize into little bitty spirits, that makes another problem for me. In heaven, the paradise of all paradises, shouldn’t we see the faces of our loving departed when we arrive? Imagine you’re looking for your mother and a tiny voice stuck inside a microscopic dot whispers, “I’m over here.”

I wonder where we get to hang out after we get through heaven’s admissions process, which I hope is not like wasting half a day at the motor vehicle agency. I envision a place called the Afterlife Mall, a string of storefronts that represent what we worshipped or didn’t worship while we were still breathing. There’s the Catholic Center, the Protestant Place, the Jewish Joint and the Muslim Mecca, to name a few. Down the way a piece is the All Souls Store and one with a marquee, “Universal God.” I think there will be an Atheist Information Desk in heaven, too. Pope John once admitted that even if you don’t believe in God, but you still do God’s work in the world, you’ll get to go there.

But there’s no end to heaven, people say. It’s infinite, we think. There are no borders. Well then, did anyone talk with an eyewitness who can confirm this claim?

According to science, the universe is 1 billion years old. Its length has been calculated at 558 trillion miles long. If this is true, then the universe has a finite length, so why shouldn’t we think heaven might have a beginning and an end, too? We know the population up there keeps growing, and with everyone having eternal life, it must get pretty darn crowded.

Imagine after I get there, I go fishing at a place in heaven called Dream Lake. I see one small spot that’s open, like the only space left in a crowded parking lot. I jump in and now I’m elbow to elbow with Muhammad Ali on my left and Billy Graham on my right. Ali casts his line and it tangles with mine. He gives me a stern look and pushes me into Mr. Graham.

“What the hell you doing?” I shout to the former heavyweight champion. He stares at me and pulls on his line again.

“My son, there’s no speaking that word here,” says Billy Graham, “It’s OK to say, “For heaven’s sake, what are you doing, but please do not speak that other H word.”

Frustrated, I cut off the end of my line and move on. Someone tells me Elvis Presley is having a concert just above the Milky Way. I ask what time and a guy who looks like George Carlin says, “Time? There’s no time in heaven. Whenever you get there, he’ll be singing his greatest hits.”

“How did you get up here?” I ask him. “You never believed.”

“Jesus greeted me at the Atheist Information Desk. Do I need to say more?”

I decide to take a further look around. I come across a stage where John Wilkes Booth is performing in a play.

“What’s with him being up here?” I ask a woman who looks like Princess Diana. “It’s that forgiveness thing,” she says. “All you have to do is really mean it and you get in. By the way, look over there to see who’s watching the murderer perform in the play.”

I look to where she’s pointing and I see Abraham Lincoln smiling and clapping his hands. Talk about the power of forgiveness!

Here’s another scene coming through a heaven imagined. I see people everywhere in heaven. I don’t like crowds. I find a tree where no one is in sight. I sit down and I hear a booming voice behind me. I turn and look, but nobody’s there.

“There are 12 gates and seven levels of heaven, my son,” shouts the voice. “There is plenty of room for everyone, and that includes you.”

“Oh my God!” I shout. “Is that you, God?”

“Yes, my son.”

Suddenly I feel an urge to go to the bathroom. I look across a cloud and see a line of people waiting to use the Porta-John, or up here it’s a Porta-Peter named after the saint. A guy walks by and hands me a new diaper he pulled from a box he’s carrying.

“They come in handy when the lines get too long,” he says. “By the way, you’d better hurry to the buffet line before the 18,000 cave men get there. It’s steak night and they run out of food early.”

Maybe when it’s my time to go to heaven, God will have built everybody a place for some privacy away from the crowds. I’ll tell him I want room service, too. No more standing behind Fred Flintstone in the buffet line for me.

Rich Strack can be reached at richiesadie11@gmail.com.