NEGOTIATING HELL: a sequel to CS Lewis' "Screwtape Letters." The End-Mary's contingency is fulfilled

Once outside her assigned purgatory site, she sprinted to the elevator. To Mary’s surprise, Virgil was waiting for her. He greeted her and handed her a package. It was a damp, medicated cloth so she could wash and treat her burned hand. He came to say goodbye.

“Thank you, Virgil. You have been unexpectedly helpful.” She smiled at him.

“And you, Madam Mary,” Virgil bowed, “have been a breath of fresh air. It was my pleasure to assist in every way possible.”

“One last request, please Virgil?” asked Mary. “On my desk are 2 things that I left for you, with an explanation note. Please may I fill you in now and answer any of your questions?”

"It would be my honor," he bowed.

“Item #1 is a page-protected, cheat-sheet for you to access our completed database of ‘Who’s Who in Hell.’ There are passwords along with new entry instructions. Thanks for helping me set up this, all-encompassing list of every being housed in hell. I enjoyed your sense of humor and working with you, kind Sir. Now we know exactly where every created being is and is not!” Virgil smiled.

“Item #2 is the binder of all the minion’s union proposals — minus page 1. It has been organized, cataloged, sectionalized and neatly-tied in a blue ribbon, literally. It is a gift for Smokey. It contains our melodramatic minions' 799+page love-letter to beer. Every paragraph is a 3rd-person toast to Smokey’s charisma, community and craftsmanship. Plus, it offers new beer recipes, brewing ideas and a 'Botanical Hops 101 | Apprenticeship Course.’ It shows their radical respect for his perfectly-poured pints, despite His Disrespectfulness’ dilutions. Smoky needs to know the minion’s gratitude for his labor of love. The front-page has a dedication that acknowledges his pub as eternity’s #1 award-winning, best bierhaus in hell.”

“Do you have any questions? With wet eyes, he shook his head no and bowed. Thank you for a most forgettable time.”

While Virgil choked back his tears, Mary did not. Tearfully, she smiled as she pressed the UP button. Nothing happened. She pushed the button harder and still nothing. Open fisted, Mary banged the raised button with the heel of her hand. Satan sabotaged her escape from hell. Come Holy Spirit!

“Allow me, Miss Mary Ma’am,” Virgil soothed. “I overheard His Despicableness directing maintenance on how to ‘fix’ this elevator, once they completed the roundabout.” He reached in, pressed DOWN and winked as the door closed. Mary felt the elevator go up. What a relief. When the door opened, Mary saw how everything about heaven was different.

Her previous heaven was made of dirt. Now, she saw it was made of light. It was a living radiance, as if love was color. She felt no fear, only a gentle pull forward, like someone was calling her home.

And then she saw Him.

Her Dad was waiting for her by the elevator. Still crying, she fell to her knees and kissed His robe. But, why was His face still veiled? Still no beatific vision. What did she miss?

“Welcome home, my dearest daughter.” God's voice was more discernable, whereas before it had been disguised. This voice carried the tenderness of a thousand lullabies.

When Mary’s life ended, so many dreams were left unfinished. As a girl, she dreamed of a her earthly wedding dance with someone hand-picked by God. Now, she trusted Dad to know exactly what she needed. She left every burden on her heart in hell. She wanted only to be here with Him. Then, she remembered her contingency agreement with God. Would He remember His promise to her?

But God had not forgotten. He extended His hand, and immediately, she understood. This was her Father-daughter dance—the condition of her fiat. Wordlessly, their minds had sealed this deal, when she agreed to enter hell. Now that hell was behind her, this was the dance her soul craved.

As Mary placed her hand in His, it rained music. She didn't recognize the melody. It was one God wrote for her and her alone. They began to dance, slowly at first, then gracefully, free from all gravity. Each step felt like healing.

As they moved, she felt the weight of all mistakes lift from her shoulders. She felt worthy—not the dorky little girl with braces--but the beloved princess of I AM. God held her with the gentleness of a Dad who had waited an eternity for this dance.

“I never left Your side,” He whispered. “Moreover, Virgil is your guardian angel, assigned at conception. He is your forever friend so be forewarned. I’m afraid he’ll demand his turn on the dance floor, too.”

Joyful tears shimmered in her eyes. She rested her head against His shoulder, letting Him lift her like music floating in the air. In their embrace, was unconditional love. All of heaven gathered to watch, bringing their love to gift-wrap this perfect moment.

“Dad, I don’t understand. What did I need to learn before I could come home to stay? Mary asked, perplexedly.

God smiled, “until your heart was 100% free, you weren’t ours. You were still stuck in your earthly attachments. But just now, as you touched My hand; you let go of your final anchor, tethering you to earth. You abandoned your earthly wedding ideas and your fantasy husband. Now, you truly know that I have something better, every time I say no.

“This is perfect. You are perfect, Dad,” she hugged Him.

“But wait, there’s more. As you know, there is no literal marriage in heaven. We have something better: a marriage of allegories between souls [St Augustine]. Heaven is an eternal wedding feast. My Son is the Bridegroom and the church is the Bride, right? So, I ask of you one last fiat. As a faithful servant in the church of Jesus Christ, will you be a bride within the Bride? Will you take the Bridegroom of all bridegrooms, as the allegorical Spouse that I hand-picked for you?”

“Jesus?” she asked. Dad nodded. Mary closed her eyes, exhaled, and smiled. “Let it be done to me, according to Thy will.”

Dancing, she pondered the meaning of allegorical marriage. God the Son was pure Love. Protected in His forever loving embrace, Mary would share in His secret heartbeat. Forever, she would hold His warm heart within hers, as his light-radiating lantern. Hand in hand, they would explore every truth, via gentle footsteps. He would gift His wisdom to her in merciful metaphors and soft symbols. He would keep her safe and whisper, “come, let us travel the heavens, together …”

When their dance ended, God lifted her chin and smiled. “Are you ready to go?” He asked. She nodded yes, crying with happiness. He stopped. Reaching into his pocket, he mused, “but first, you might need these…”

He handed her a pair of sunglasses — Chopard’s -- for her beatific vision. She slipped them on. With her hand safely in God's, she stepped forward into eternity ...

THE END

Epilogue: IMO, as children of God living in the state of grace; Satan is more afraid of us than we are of him. Why?--because God is the ultimate variable. We have something intense to gain, while Satan blew his chance. Why else would he wage this passionate war against us? Our faith (and holy fear of) God must outweigh our tiniest fear of Satan. While hell is real and we respect the seriousness of Satan's temptations, St Teresa of Avila would say; his legions are irritations, like random swarms of gnats. Who consoles us with, 'don't be afraid?--the One Who always has our back. P.S. Stay tuned for the satirical sequel, "Organizing Hell."

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Talking to a wall

Chapter 2: Jerking Satan’s Chain & the burning laptop

Chapter 3: “Hmm …. I guess I read that wrong”

Chapter 4: The devil is in the details

Chapter 5: And what was it they wanted to organize?

Chapter 6: Nothing is ever good enough

Chapter 7: What could be worse?

Chapter 8: The learning curve

Chapter 9: It’s all in the sales pitch

Chapter 10: Uh, huh?

Chapter 11: Just the first day