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20160827_203138Playfully assuming that it will be, to a degree, a place where anything is possible, I asked my son Harrison what he was hoping to do in heaven. He said he wanted super hero powers so that he could fly and lift heavy objects. I told him that was lame and he needed to go bigger. But hey, he’s nine.

He asked me what I was hoping for, but before I could answer, he said, “Probably a really nice Scotch, right?”

No, silly boy. That’s not my first request. The first words from my lips would be ones of thanksgiving to the Lord for His merciful and redeeming kindness. And then, at the Creator’s kindly nod, I would make a request for that which would be the beginning of my very first endless day.

Can you guess my request?

No, I don’t care who shot Kennedy.

Nuh-uh. I have no concern with whether or not there’s life on other planets.

Sure, I’d like to know if Nessie is real, but that’s more like number five on my list.

Nope. I don’t have any famous people in mind that I feel I need to meet right away. I’ll have eternity to get around to that.

When I get to heaven, my first request will be much grander—much more exhilarating—much more phenomenally wonderful than anything you can possibly imagine.


I want to pilot the Millennium Falcon… for realsies.

Yep, I want to swoop through asteroid fields and swish in and around with tight maneuvers. Tie Fighters in close pursuit, I want to have to shout “Route all power to the rear deflector shields!” while I plunge that parsec chomping baby into the guts of menacing space stations and blast out the other side having destroyed my foe’s reactor core. I want to spin and dive and break into turns that see me head-to-head with Star Destroyers and nearly consumed by giant space worms.

That’s what I want.

My second request would be as my son first guessed. I’d desire a fine Scotch—that never spills from its glass—while I’m flying the Millennium Falcon—and dog fighting with Tie Fighters—and playing “chicken” with Star Destroyers—and blowing up space stations.

You just realized that you want to live in my heaven, didn’t you? Yeah, I know. Who wouldn’t?

Well, there is a piece of it here on earth that we can share. I suppose that The Macallan 12-year-old Double Cask edition could just be the fine Scotch that I imagine occupying that unspillable glass.

The Double Cask’s nose is a light-stepping breeze of signature sherry followed closely by dried orange rinds and melted sugar that has nearly become caramel. The palate is virtually the same, except there is the sense that the sugar was exchanged for honey chews. And a drop or two of water enlivens a hidden chocolate note.

The finish, medium in length, is an exceptional continuation of the sherry’s careful treading. But then a pinch of wood spice and a fraction of salt arrive and bring the whisky to a somewhat startling, but still well-balanced, conclusion.

I’m pretty sure that this will be an available selection in heaven. In fact, since we’re considering my own heavenly construct, I’m certain I’ll be able to pick up a few bottles at Chalmun’s Cantina in Mos Eisley on Tatooine.

By the way, Harrison has since changed his mind. He wants to be my co-pilot. I told him that the only way it would happen is if he changes his first request from super powers to being changed into a Wookie. He was agreeable as long as it was temporary.

Hah! Temporary. Does that even mean anything in a place where whisky does not spill and I am the captain of the Millennium Falcon?


The Rev’s dashboard décor: Jesus and the Falcon.