It transcends time and space; it transforms the skeptical into the believer; it awakens the sleeping, and it quickens the weary. Love knows no bounds; it is the spiritual door that connects dreams and reality. Learning to recognize the strong connection between the two came early in life for me; therefore, for most of my life, I have held a deep reverence for love and a profound fascination with dreams. During my teen years when new concepts of love were being introduced to me, I had some vivid dreams that came so close to reality that they frightened me because I lacked the wisdom, discernment, and experience to appreciate what was happening.

My belief in and commitment to love stems from my first experience with love. James ‘BoJay’ Harvey, my father, was my hero as a little girl and even as a grown woman. He was a man who took care of his family, loved his wife, and went to work every day even after staying up half the night battling an asthma attack. Back in those days, there were not a lot of over-the-counter remedies that he could take (or afford) for his condition. There were times during those nights when I would hear him struggling to get that next breath and I was so scared that he would not be able to do so. My Daddy was the beginning of my world, and I felt that if he left me then my world would surely end.

I know my father loved me; he did not have to say it every day; he showed it in many ways. Although he was a strong man, I have seen him cry on occasion; however, my witnessing his tears did not tarnish his image or diminish his strength in my eyes. BoJay had a delightful sense of humor that he passed on to me and my siblings. He would sometimes tell us these funny stories about Bre Fox and Bre Rabbit that always held some type of moral ending. As a little girl, I did not understand many of those stories, but it felt good sitting at his feet while listening to him speak. I learned so much about life, words, and circumstance from BoJay; however, his greatest gift to me was his lessons on love.

A few months before his 70th birthday my daddy became increasingly ill, and it was revealed to me that it was a sickness unto death. I would drive the 100 miles from Atlanta to my hometown to take him to his doctor’s appointments. This went on for about four months and during those months, my father and I fellowshipped. We reminisced, we laughed, and we talked about anything—life, love, God, rest. Amid our time together, I found the strength to let love go after realizing he was ready to go. After my father transitioned, I spent a lot of time reflecting on the many circumstances that I felt had held him back in life. My father was a mild-mannered man who endured many hardships during his time here on earth. He loved deeply and eternally, yet it seemed that he never truly received that kind of love in return. Even when he was no longer with me physically, I could still see his ever-ready smile and hear his constant laughter. I remembered his giving and forgiving nature, along with his quiet contemplative spirit; however, there was a place in my soul that questioned if he ever experienced true happiness in life.

I have always felt that my daddy deserved true love and happiness—maximum joy. My parents were married for 26 years, and they were years wrought with some turbulence. Still, my father loved my mother until his dying day even though they had been separated for 19 years when he transitioned. Yes, he had moved on, but he had never stopped loving my mother. Those unbidden thoughts haunted me for years after his passing. At times I would see him in my dreams, but they were only hazy visions of him from the past. Then in 2005, I had a dream about my father that tenderly rocked my soul, beautifully changed my life, and brought me face-to-face with the reality of dreams.

I found myself in a place of sweet harmony and peace, and I recognized the place as my hometown in South Georgia. The day was warm and bright, the air charged with a lingering feel of expectation. Although it was riding low in the sky, the evening sun cast a beautiful glow upon everything in sight. Every now and again a soft breeze lingeringly caressed my cheeks and when I gazed toward the heavens, the sky held no clouds, and it was such a vivid blue that it almost hurt my eyes. Our family had lived in this house during the time of my parent's separation, and there I was sitting contentedly on the front porch, leaning back in a straight-backed chair. There were three small children in the front yard laughing and having fun in the warm sand while playing some childish made-up game.

Sitting on the porch with me, near the front door, was a beautiful quiet spirited woman that I did not recognize. I could not easily determine her age, but she did not seem that much older than I was at that time. I could also tell that she was tall and shapely, even though she had not gotten up since we had been sitting there. Her skin was a lovely cocoa brown, and she wore her dark natural hair in a neat medium-sized afro. She and I sat there together in a companionable silence and we both waited. It was as though we both knew that the moment required no words. The only sounds at that time were those of the children in the yard laughing and playing.

Then there came the sound of a car pulling up at the top of the driveway. I heard the crunching of the tires on the gravel as the vehicle stopped, someone getting out of the car and closing the door, followed by the sound of the car driving away. I never saw the car, nor any other person associated with the car. Next, I saw someone walking toward the house; he came into the yard, bent down, and said a few words to the playing children before walking toward the front porch. At that moment, I realized that he was the reason for our wait. I felt joy and excitement build in my soul; my heart seemed about to explode as it cried silently, ‘BoJay’—but out loud I said happily, “Hey, Daddy!”

Now calling him daddy may not seem strange; however, while he was living, I never addressed him in that way when speaking directly to him. My siblings and I always called him BoJay and to us the term meant daddy. On that day, it just felt so good and so right to simply call him by what he had always been to me. It also dawned on me that the moment was not just some dream about the man who had been an intricate and influential part of my life for thirty-three years. The reality of it was that the man standing before me was my daddy, but he was also a new man in a new place with a new life, and I was visiting him in his life on the other side.

Greedily, I drank in the sight of my father as he climbed the steps to the porch. He gently touched me on my shoulder, lovingly smiled at me, and said, ‘Hey, Baby Girl.” My soul danced with joy as I looked up into his smiling face. I saw the man that I have loved and adored all my life. The man I have missed and wished I had done and said so much more while he was still alive, but this was not a moment for regrets. My daddy was standing right before me smiling at me with love and peace radiating from his soul. He was himself yet he was taller and younger; when he walked, he did not drag his leg as he had done after the stroke he had suffered a few months before he passed. He was a new man.

After he spoke to me, he reached passed me and gently touched the hand of the woman sitting there waiting for him beside the door. On his face was a different smile, a different love, and a different joy. She stood up as if drawn by his simple touch. I could not see their faces, yet I felt so much loving emanating from them that it almost took my breath away. In a heartbeat, I knew that this woman loved my daddy in the way that I always felt he deserved to be loved. I could also feel the power of his love for her; however, I was used to my daddy loving this way—deeply, passionately, and eternally. I was just so overjoyed to witness that he was finally on the receiving end of that kind of love. After joining hands, the couple moved together toward the front door and disappeared into the cool shade of the house. Soon the three children came in from the front yard and followed them through the door.

I did not attempt to follow them inside; somehow, I knew that where they were going, I would not be able to go—just yet. As they disappeared from my sight, I sighed deeply and contentedly as I leaned back in my chair again. I felt as though a great burden had been lifted from my spirit and I knew that I would not worry about my father’s happiness ever again. I had been there with him; I had seen him face-to-face, and I had felt his touch. I knew that this was more than a dream; I was in fact sitting on the front porch of the home of my father on the other side. That realization brought me no fear—just a soothing sense of peace and a sweet gladness of spirit. I knew that God had granted me divine favor when he allowed me the experience of being in that place. I was humbled beyond words about His generosity and His personal attention to something that had been vexing my soul for such a long time.

The experience also revealed to me that Heaven is right here on earth; it is just on the other side of what our physical eyes can see due to our inherent unbelief in the spiritual connection between love and dreams. When my daddy stepped up on that porch, my eyes were opened to a whole new realm of possibilities when it comes to life and death, heaven and earth, and dreams and reality. I do not really know if anyone else would call the place I visited Heaven because even I know that I was not up there just beyond the sky. I do know that I was in a real place in real-time, and it was so much more than a dream. I will say that wherever I was, there are three things of which I am absolutely sure: Love took me there, my father was there with me, and it was Heaven to me.

Finally, I believe within the depths of my soul that my father is a new man who is now well-loved and happy. My daddy, BoJay, is living a new life with a new family on the other side.