An aging Harry Rimmer wrote the following letter to his friend Dr Charles Fuller:
I believe you’re going to speak about Heaven next Sunday. I’m interested in that land because I’ve held a clear title to a bit of property there for about fifty years. I didn’t buy it, it was given to me without price, but the Donor purchased it for me at a tremendous sacrifice. I’m not holding it for speculation; it’s not a vacant lot.
For over half a century I’ve been sending materials up to the greatest Architect in the universe, who’s been building a home for me, which will never need re-modelling, because it will suit me perfectly and will never grow old. Termites can never undermine its foundations, for it rests on the Rock of Ages; fires can’t destroy it, floods can’t wash it away; no bolts will ever be placed upon the doors, for no vicious person will ever enter the land where my dwelling stands.
It’s almost completed and almost ready for me to enter in and abide in peace eternally without fear of being rejected. There’s a valley of deep shadow between this place where I live and that to which I shall journey in a short time. I can’t reach my home in that City without passing through this valley. But I’m not afraid because the best friend I ever had went through that same valley long, long ago, and drove away all its gloom. He’s stuck with me through thick and thin since we first became acquainted fifty-five years ago. And I own his promise in printed form, never to forsake me or leave me alone. He will be with me as I walk through the valley of the shadow. And I’ll not lose my way when he’s with me.
My ticket to Heaven has no date marked for the journey; no return coupon; no permit for baggage. I’m ready to go and I may not be here when you’re preaching next Sunday evening but I’ll meet you there someday.
Harry Rimmer died before the following Sunday.
Cited by Simon Guillbaud in For What It’s Worth, 2006, Oxford: Monarch Books, p.116-7