Approaching the Pearly Gates

I don't want to drive up to the Pearly Gates in a
shiny sports car, wearing beautifully tailored
clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long,
perfectly manicured fingernails. I want to drive up in
a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking
kids to scout camp. I want to be there with a smudge
of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches
for a sick neighbor's children. I want to be there
with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping
to weed someone's garden. I want to be there with
children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of
a friend on my shoulder. I want the Lord to know I was
really here and that I really lived.

-- Marjorie Pay Hinckley, 1911-2004